Bones
by Senmut
Summary: When the bones of an old adversary are discovered aboard the Galactica, things look bleak for Commander Adama. Another entry from the VS2 project.


**Prologue: From The Adama Journals**

Recent events surrounding Sire Antipas have left me at perhaps the lowest sensation I can recall having during my entire time as the leader of the Fleet. Not that this compares to such times of travail like our experiences with the Cylons, Count Iblis, the Ziklagi and other assorted menaces, but rather that for the first time I find myself questioning my own sense of judgment, and my ability to lead effectively for the long-term. For the first time, I find myself wondering if my decision three sectars ago to release Baltar from his confinement aboard the Prison Barge, and set him loose on some isolated planet far behind us now, has now produced an ugly harvest that will make it increasingly impossible to avoid the potential for mischief among my enemies.

I cannot envision a situation where I would have found myself willingly agreeing to let Sire Antipas remain a free man, let alone a member of the Council, were it not for the unfortunate appearance of unjustness that Baltar's release has generated in so many people. The actual reason of maintaining one's word of honor as a result of a tactical battlefield decision made during time of war, seems to so many people an outdated, antiquated concept that no longer has relevance in the uncertain age we now live in. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps I am bound so much by concepts that scholars at times describe as 'chivalric' or 'honorable', that it potentially blinds me to the prospects of what long-term consequences can arise from that seemingly senseless devotion to principle. But at the same time, if that were as true as my critics would think, could I have ever brought myself to ask for Baltar's assistance in destroying the BaseShip to begin with? To me, that was an act of compromise and diplomacy that needed to be taken, given the grave situation that existed at the time. Perhaps then, I can ultimately view the decision I had to take regarding Sire Antipas in the same light. And if my behavior remains consistent, then perhaps ultimately, to turn a phrase from a Caprican poet around, the fault lies not in myself, but in those around me after all. If so, can I really be so hard on myself ultimately, and filled with what can only be dangerous self-doubt?

Self-doubt will certainly not be good for myself, or for the Fleet should crisis soon revisit us again. The Ziklagi danger no longer troubles me any longer, and I still feel certain that the Cylons remain at worst, a distant problem to be concerned with, but the foremost worry for me is that of Iblis. My biggest nightmare in recent days has been that our patrols will re-encounter the horrible Derelict spaceship encountered by Apollo and Sheba, or some other manifestation of Iblis and his minions that could potentially send us all down the path to the worst fate any of us are capable of envisioning. If that were to happen during a time when there is greater potential for questioning my leadership, would it be possible for Iblis to succeed at the task in which he failed last time?

My greatest prayer for now, in the absence of any other visible crisis, is to simply ask for the inner strength I so desperately need for whatever lies ahead.

**_Chapter One_**

It was quiet down here, and had been for most of the many long yahrens since the thick, heavy plates were first welded into place in space dock. Few ever came down here, few had any reason to. However, the Battlestar _Galactica _had taken her share of bumps and insults since fleeing the Colonies, several in her recent tangle with a Ziklagi warship in an asteroid field. And now, with raw materials being plentiful once more, things that would once have been low on the priority list were being moved to the top.

Technician First Class Proca, mangled fumerello in his mouth, his belt hung with tools, made his way down the dim corridor, his assistant Technician's Mate Second Class Iarbas right behind him. They scanned the area, slowly sweeping the decks and bulkheads about them.

"Here it is," said Iarbas, focusing in on an area of bulkhead, his voice muffled somewhat by his lifemask. Though the section had been repressurized for their inspection, they were taking no chances.

"I see it, kid," said Proca, scanning the indicated area. "Yeah, this is where she smacked us. I'm reading a bent brace inside, and a hairline fracture in the buckled plate."

"Serious?"

"Doesn't seem to be, kid, but you can never tell with this sort of thing. Could last for yahrens, could go five centons from now. I've seen 'em blow in spacedock. Lords, can it get ugly. Saw a guy sucked out through the ripped metal once. We'll check her out, and mark it for repairs."

"Right."

The two set down their tools, and got to work. They were tasked to slowly removing the inner bulkhead, and scan inside the void, to check for hull damage and assess it's extent. If it were minor, they would give it a temporary seal with a wetsteel laser, and move on. If critical, they'd back out, and seal the area off again.

"I'm sure glad we got all that metal and ore a while back," said Iarbas. "Too much stuff was going by the wayside."

"Well, that's the way it is kid, when you can't head back for spacedock when you need to. It's the same all over the Fleet. But with all the hits we took from that Ziklagi ship, and those asteroid fragments, the hull's beginning to look like a pneumo target."

"Not good," replied the younger man.

"No felcercarb. Here, kid. Help me with this."

Iarbas did so, helping Proca to steady the cutter as he sliced away part of the bulkhead near the deck. Slowly, the metal gave way, and the two men caught it as it yielded, lowering the thick slab of titanium steel to the deck. Iarbas grabbed up an illuminator, handed it to his partner, then got his own. Slowly, the two slipped through the gap, and into darkness.

"Creepy," said Iarbas, as they cast the beams around the gloom. "Like a tomb, almost."

"Feels that way sometimes, don't it kid?" He sniffed the air. "Smells like it, too. Did I ever tell you the story of the _Great Nebula?_"

"Uh, well..." replied the younger man, who had heard it more times than he could recall.

"She was the first ship the Colonies ever built capable of hyperlight travel,"

Proca went on, oblivious as usual. "Oh, three, four hundred yahrens before the war. Huge for her day. And as advanced as they could make her. Anyway, there was this technician, he disappeared during her construction, and…ah, here we are." The older man stopped, and ran his instruments over a section of the hull. This was the very skin of the _Galactica. _Two metrons thick, and made of the hardest composite alloy known to Colonial science at the time of her construction, it had endured a lot since the ship was built. Even so, the metal was now bent inwards, the inner face distorted. Proca scanned close. "Yeah. She's got a fracture. Leaking air, too."

"Are we safe?"

"Oh yeah, it's real slow. But we'll inject a wet-steel sealer patch into the crack, and close this area off until the plate can be replaced. Hand me that…yeah." They worked in silence for a few centons, and then rescanned the entire area. He put a small homing beacon onto the inner surface, then pulled his commlink, and spoke. "Team Beta? Team Alpha here. Yeah, we've got one marked for you guys, in Section F. We're moving on to Section G."

"Roger, Team Alpha," came the reply. "My boys are suiting up now."

"Thanks. Out." The old tech put his commlink away, and watched as Iarbas scanned the area one last time. Iarbas frowned. "What's wrong, kid?"

"Sir," replied Iarbas, showing his super the scanner readout.

"You're kidding me." He handed the younger man's scanner back and opened his own again.

"Yeah. I don't get this. Human DNA? Down in here?"

"Yeah, and it ain't no reflection of us. Here, give me that illuminator." Proca grabbed up the light, and shown it around the cramped area. He saw the buckled plate, the bent support brace, the deck, the ceiling…

"_Oh Frack!"_ gasped Iarbas.

And the skeleton, its empty eye sockets gazing at them from across the dark chamber, its grin bringing back long-forgotten childhood nightmares.

Adama stumbled, groaning in pain. In a dark cavern or tunnel, he was being chased. Chased by something dark, mysterious, and with no real shape, like a fog or a shadow. It pursued him through gloom and mist, always there, whichever way he turned, always taunting him with a soft, sibilant laughter.

"_You cannot get away, boy! You will never get away from me!"_ the voice rasped, sounding, as always, as if it were coming from a dead throat, as if the very sound waves themselves were also somehow dead. He ran smack into a blank wall, and turned. Behind him, the shadow wafted and oozed towards him, red eyes spearing him, spreading out like evil arms to embrace him, the laughter growing ever more knife-like. It drew close, and…

The black vapor, instead of choking him, began to coalesce, to become more solid and real. Out of the midst of the vapor, the eyes became more real, the blackness around them coherent. Within moments, it had become a face. A face that, with a shock, he realized he knew. Knew so very well.

"_You cannot escape me, Adama!" _said the silky-smooth, yes somehow also hellish voice of Count Iblis. _"You and your pitiful Fleet cannot outrun me, mortal! I shall always know where to find you, Adama! I shall always be there, to reclaim what belongs to me!"_

"_No!" _said Adama, his voice sounding weak in his own ears.

"_Oh but I will," _hissed the smiling Count. _"Shall I show you, Adama? Behold!"_

"_No!" _gasped Adama, as he saw what was held up in front of him. In each hand, the Father of Lies held a person. Specifically, Apollo in one, Sheba in the other. Dressed for their upcoming sealing ceremony, the two were shaking and writhing in agony, as if Iblis were subjecting them to every conceivable torment his world had to offer. Under his ugly, black cloven feet, the Count bestrode the crushed and mutilated bodies of Zac, Ila, and Serina.

"_Mine, Adama. Mine they were, and mine they remain! You shall never reclaim them! You shall never…!"_

"_NO!"_ screamed Adama, and struck the Count. He recoiled, arm ripped with pain, and he screamed again, as the scene before him dissolved into nothingness. He continued shouting and screaming, till he felt hands about him. Shaking him. A voice calling his name. Another voice. A kindly voice.

Siress Tinia's voice.

"Adama!" cried the Councilwoman, her face suddenly filling his vision. He gasped, struggling for a moment, until reality sank in. He fell still, shaking his head. He put a hand to his brow and it came away wet. "Adama, are you alright?"

"I…"

"Should I call Dr. Salik?" she asked, reaching for the bedside telecom.

"No…uh, no, please." He took a deep breath, and felt his pulse steady. "I'm…fine now. Just a bad dream is all." He blinked, and took another deep breath. "Uh…what are you doing here?"

"We were going to have breakfast this morning, remember?' she said, straightening up. "When I got to the door, I could hear you, so I entered. You _did_ program it for my thumbprint, after all."

"Yes, I remember." Adama sat up, throwing his feet over the side of the bed. Tinia was one of the few people who Adama had given access to his quarters to, and the only member of the Council. The two had, well, dated a few times, and…

"You sure you're alright, Adama?" she asked again.

"Yes, now. If you'll give me a few centons, Tinia,"

"Of course."

_What in Hades Hole was that?_ Adama wondered, as the water coursed over him. _Was it real? Was Iblis truly…here? Or was it just a nightequa, and nothing more? Oh God, that was horrible!_

Tinia sat as she waited in Adama's office while he turbowashed, shaved, and got ready for the day. Although she and the Commander had become considerably more friendly since the escape of the Eastern Alliance Enforcers some sectars back, this was intended to be as much working breakfast as social occasion. Adama had some minor measures he intended to bring before the Council at it's next session later that day, as well as discuss the recent census program, and he wished to go over various points with Tinia. He also wanted to sound her out, in private, about some of his suspicions and misgivings regarding Sire Antipas and Siress Lydia, and various recent events in the Fleet. Like Adama, Tinia trusted the suave, smooth Councilman about as far as she could throw a BaseShip.

**Still, there were times when Adama wondered if he would have sounded out Tinia this way, if it weren't for the fact that Antipas and Lydia were now aligned with each other in more ways than one. Ever since he had seen Lydia show such cold ruthlessness during the final settlement of the Dravius affair, which had forced Adama to remain silent regarding matters that would have otherwise brought Antipas's political career to an end, it had left him more worried about what he could face in the future. When it had been Antipas alone, with only the lesser lights of the Council like Domra and Geller supporting him, it had seemed like a manageable faction of opposition to deal with. But with Lydia now alongside Antipas, and clearly entrenched as his lover as well, that presented a far more viable bloc of opposition for the Fleet to one day listen to should things ever go awry. ****  
**_Do I just feel the need to gravitate to the other prominent woman in the Council because I know it's good if I have a strong, independent-minded woman on my side, the way Antipas now has with Lydia?_** The last thing Adama wanted to think was that he might be taking advantage of Tinia for his own purposes. Still, the Siress had proved reliable in her support, and he didn't think he'd gone further than he'd needed to. Despite the occasional feelings of unease, he still felt certain he'd handled things in a completely proper way.**

Adama finally emerged, looking quite his old self, and seemingly none the worse for his nightequa, and the two headed for the Officer's Mess. As always, the Commander in company with the striking Siress raised a few eyebrows, but neither much cared anymore. They ate, talked over Council matters, then Adama's attention was distracted by Apollo entering, Colonel Tigh right behind him. Apollo greeted his father, but before he could say anything more, Adama saw the grim look on Tigh's face.

"Colonel?" he asked. Tigh always ate his morning meal in his quarters. In all the yahrens they had served together, outside of time in a Life Station, Adama had never seen it otherwise. What could possibly…

"Sorry to disturb you, Commander. Siress Tinia. But we have a problem, sir. Down on the orlop deck."

"The orlop deck?'

"Yes, sir. There's a repair and survey crew down there, and they found something, Commander."

"What is it?"

"**Lords of Kobol," Adama whispered in horror**, Apollo and Tinia next to him, as he took in the scene before him. The skeleton was still where it had been found, and Dr. Salik was giving it a preliminary examination. "Who found it?"

"Me, sir," said Technician Proca. "That is, Iarbas and me, sir. We were checking out the void for hull damage, after that last tangle we had, and…we found him."

"Doctor?" asked the Commander.

"It was murder. No question about it. Laser blast point blank to the chest," replied the CMO. "It burned his uniform, as you can see." Adama leaned closer. The tattered and rotted uniform tunic the skeleton was wearing was burned right over the heart. "He was dead before he hit the deck. And he never had a chance to draw. His laser is still in the holster." He directed the light for them to see.

"Any idea how long ago?" asked Tigh.

"It's only a perfunctory scan, but I'd say maybe thirty yahrens," replied the doctor. "That, and his uniform. This old style tunic was replaced decades ago. I'll know more when we get him to autopsy."

"A Major," said Tigh, looking at the old rank insignia still plainly visible on the dead man's collar. "Security Division. Any ID?"

"Something in his belt pouch, but first we need to get him…ah, Cassie," said Salik, turning. His favorite Med Tech was here with the gurney.

"Oh my…" she began.

"Yes. Something of a cold case, Cassie. Tell Doctor Paye we'll need him."

"He's over doing the health scans and immunization boosters on the _Agro Ship One,_ Doctor."

"Well, get him back, and assign Doctor Galen to continue over there. Paye is the most experienced man in forensics we have."

"Right away, Doctor."

Adama watched in silence as the skeleton was carefully lifted off the deck and onto the gurney. It was like a scene out of one of the extremely bad horror holovids he had so liked watching as a child (and his mother had so _dis_liked), but he could not take his eyes off the deceased. As the bones were laid out, something clattered onto the deck, and rolled across it, to stop up against Adama's boot. He bent down, and picked it up. A ring. A heavy auric ring, with some sort of jewel set into it.

"Commander?" asked Tigh. Silence. He called to Adama again.

"I'll expect your report as soon as possible," said Adama, to Salik. He turned to Tigh. "You have the bridge, Colonel. I'll be in session with the Council, if needed." And so said, he stepped back out into the corridor, and he and Tinia were gone.

But he kept the ring.

**Adama almost felt a sense of relief that the Council session turned out to be boring and uneventful, except for the few times he felt like strangling Sire Antipas, or, as a consolation prize, Sire Domra. An uneventful Council session meant that he didn't have to concern himself with anything from Antipas or Lydia that could only refuel his inner sense of concern over when either of them would start to make trouble again. For now though, it looked as if Antipas was going to actually keep his word regarding a pledge to stay low-key for the short-term. Even so, the fact that Lydia was now sitting next to Antipas at the Council table, instead of her usual place on the other side as she had done in the past, was reminder enough for Adama that at some point, neither of them would consider themselves bound by that pledge any longer.****When the meeting dispersed however, Adama saw the Libran Councilman make his way over and ask him **about the recent discovery below decks.

_Is there nothing he doesn't hear about first?_ Adama wondered. He had put an immediate clamp on news of the grisly find, but such things never seemed to stop Antipas from hearing whatever was going on. Adama gave the Councilman a perfunctory report, and then headed for the bridge, **ignoring both the scowl he knew was boring into his back, and the sight of Lydia reaching out her hand to her lover so they could no doubt share a few words about the event.**

Tigh handed the bridge back to him, reporting all was clear. Apollo's patrol showed no signs of pursuit, and Greenbean's found nothing ahead. Everything on that front was, for the moment, clear. Adama signed off on it, then went to debrief the pilots. Tigh kept noting how controlled Adama seemed, how whip-tight. He wondered what was wrong, and realized his CO was avoiding it. He hadn't asked a single question about the skeleton, or whether or not Salik had any news. It was as if he didn't _want_ to know, somehow. But why? Why wouldn't the Commander want to know about a dead man found on his ship? Surely…

_Of course! Because…_

"Commander," said Athena, looking up from her post. "Doctor Salik calling from Life Station. He has a report for you."

"Tell him I'll be there presently," replied Adama.

"Well," said Paye, standing over the autopsy table, "what we have here is a Human male, aged between thirty-five and thirty-eight yahrens. From a radio-isotopic scan of the remaining soft tissue, he died between twenty-six and thirty-one yahrens ago."

"Have you identified him yet?" asked Adama. He looked down at the discolored old bones, focusing for a few moments on the skull. The sockets seemed to stare back up at him, and he felt a cold chill run down his back. Paye handed Medtech Garcia the dead head, who set it into an articulation frame. There, it would be scanned by lasers, thousands of data points collected, and a facial reconstruction produced.

"Well, he was carrying an old-style data pad in his belt pouch, but it had no power left. I sent it and his laser and all the clothes off to Doctor Wilker's lab for testing and data retrieval. However, I may beat him to it." Paye smiled as he showed some scans to Adama. "There was part of one finger preserved, and we were able to retrieve a partial fingerprint. That, along with dental scans, has been given to the computer, and I expect an answer shortly."

**Apollo frowned, "You can actually get a match for someone who's been dead that long? I didn't think our records were that thorough."**

**"You'd be surprised by the level of information we have in this central data base, Captain," the assistant Chief Medical Officer noted. "The _Galactica_, like all warships, was required to maintain a copy of the entire Colonial military personnel central database, going back for a minimum of a hundred yahrens. The only thing that would be missing would be the last updates made to the central library banks on Caprica before the Destruction that weren't uploaded to our system." **

**"You learn something new every day," Apollo shook his head in amazement and then glanced at his father who had his hand on his chin, and was staring pensively at the corpse, as if he were lost in thought.**

Garcia pressed a switch, and the skull began to rotate in the frame, hundreds of lasers sweeping over it repeatedly. While that was going on, there was a soft beep. Dr. Paye went to another workstation, and got his report. He printed out a hardcopy for the Commander.

"Who was he?" asked Apollo, standing next to his father.

"Well….it looks as if we _still_ don't know." Paye showed Apollo his copy.

"Restricted information?" asked Apollo, looking up from the paper incredulously. "The file on this man has been sealed, but by whom?"

"Well, it doesn't say," replied Paye, and turned at another beep. The reconstruction was complete. He punched the appropriate controls, and a face appeared in the holoprojector. A face that looked so real it could have been flesh and blood. Shown as bald, Paye experimented with various computer generated hair and eye color. At last, Apollo heard Adama take a sharp breath.

"You know him?" asked Apollo. His father did not answer at once. "Father?"

"Yes. Yes I did," said Adama at last, his voice sounding tight.

"Who was he?" pressed his son.

"Major Dorian, of Colonial Security," replied Adama. "Yes. Yes, I knew him. A long time ago."

It took Adama's personal security codes, both as Fleet Commander _and_ as President of the Colonial Nation, to get the computer to unseal the file on their mysterious interloper. It was a long file, and after he had read it through, twice, he showed it to Tigh and Apollo. In private. In his quarters.

"You say you knew him, Father?" asked Apollo, still perusing the file.

"Yes. Dorian and I were…friends, once. Many many yahrens ago."

"I never heard you mention him."

"That was before you were born, Apollo. Before…before your mother and I were even sealed. We first knew each other when we were boys, in school." Something in the way Adama said this gave Apollo the impression that his father and the late Major Dorian had not exactly parted on the best of terms. He spared a look at Colonel Tigh. The Colonel had obviously drawn the same conclusion.

"Were you both at the Academy together?" asked Tigh.

"We entered on the same day, yes. We even were billeted together during Basic." Adama stopped, sighing. He opened his mouth to speak again, and the door chimed. Someone was asking admittance.

The Chief Opposer, Sire Solon to be exact.

**_Chapter Two_**

"What?" said Apollo, half-rising out of his seat, glaring at the Fleet's Chief Opposer. "What in Hades Hole is it you are you implying, Sire Solon?"

"I'm not implying _anything_, Captain Apollo," replied the tall, dignified Sire, his aide seated next to him. If Apollo's question had annoyed either man, they gave no outward sign. "But evidence is evidence, and it is my duty to follow that evidence wherever it may lead, however unpleasant the conclusions one is forced to draw." He looked from Apollo to Tigh, then to Adama once more. He set a file of hard copies and photos on the Commander's desk. "All of Major Dorian's clothes and personal effects have been examined. Now I must ask, Commander, before I continue, do you wish counsel to be present?"

"Coun...what the Hades H…" began Tigh, but Adama motioned him to calm himself.

"I will stand as counsel," said Apollo, without so much as an eyeblink. He saw a scowl pass quickly over Solon's face. While he knew the Opposer had a job to do, and one that was not always pleasant, that didn't mean he had to like the man.

Which he did not.

"Apollo…" began Adama, but his son shook his head.

"Who else, Father?"

"Very well," said Adama.

"Now, what is this evidence, Sire Solon?" asked Apollo, as crisp and formal as any Protector in a courtroom. "Show us."

"Simply this, Captain. How did Commander Adama's fingerprints get onto Major Dorian's ID pad, _and _how did the dead man come to be wearing the Commander's laser pistol?"

"That's what I'd like to know," said Adama, after a few moments, to his son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law. "I haven't seen Dorian since… a few sectons after I made Colonel."

"Tell us more about this Major Dorian," said Sheba. Like her father, the legendary Commander Cain, once she'd heard of what had happened, it was 'damn the BaseShips, full speed ahead", and she had been glued to Apollo's side, practically making herself co-counsel. Both men knew it would take a crowbar and a small solonite charge to get her away, so neither would even try. "From what little I've heard so far, he sounds like he was a pretty unsavory character, Commander."

"Yes," sighed Adama. "But he wasn't always that way, Sheba. As I told Apollo, he and I knew each other as boys. We even attended the same primary school for several yahrens, before his parents died, and he was taken in by an uncle, a retired Warrior, and moved away. Raised on Aquaria. But we kept in touch, and visited when possible. We were close. We even joined the Academy on the same day."

"What went wrong?" asked Apollo.

"He cheated," answered Adama, letting out a long sigh. "An exam on shipboard operations. He was caught cheating, and very nearly expelled."

"Nearly?" asked Sire Solon. "I thought that was a compulsory expulsion offence, under Academy regulations."

"It was. Nevertheless, he was not. I was later to find out why," answered Adama. "A few sectons later, he was caught in a liaison with an instructor. A _married_ instructor."

"That surely must have gotten him expelled," said Sheba.

"So I thought," said Adama, "since it was I who reported it to our barracks monitor."

"You?" asked Apollo.

"Yes. I was supposed to pick up some supplementary materials in her office. Instead, I found Dorian, with the woman in what can only be termed an…extremely compromising situation. Naturally, I reported it, despite threats."

"And?" asked Sheba.

"There was an Article Ten hearing, and she was convicted of a breach of regulations on my testimony. Also, it seemed Dorian wasn't the first. She was dismissed, and I didn't see or hear from Dorian again for yahrens. I assumed he'd been cashiered as well. But no. It turned out he had… connections. Powerful connections. When we met again, he was a Captain."

"Captain? In what?" asked Apollo.

"Military Intelligence. Specifically, the Thirteenth Directorate." Adama let his words hang in the air for a moment. Both younger Warriors actually seemed to shudder at the name.

"Excuse me," said Sire Solon, frowning. "I've never heard of this. What precisely is the Thirteenth Directorate?"

"The Thirteenth Directorate is…was, a special section within our Military Intelligence apparatus," said Apollo. "Like the Internal Affairs bureau of a police department. They had broad 'discretionary powers', when it came to the investigation of matters within the Colonial Military. Sometimes, _too _broad in my opinion. Your entire life was open to them, if someone deemed it 'necessary'." Apollo nearly spat the last word out. "If they descended on you, it was almost an automatic presumption of guilt."

"Virtually no rights," said Sheba. "Like a headhunting expedition."

"How in Hades did a disgraced cadet end up in Military Intelligence?" asked Sire Solon. "It all sounds very irregular."

"I said he had powerful connections," replied Adama. "Dorian was very intelligent. That, as well as a photographic memory and a penchant for detail that bordered on the obsessive. Some friends of his family were very high in Military Intel. They…recruited him."

"I see," said Solon. "And?"

"Dorian was also selfish, cruel, and vindictive. Traits that I noticed when we were younger, but tried to ignore for the sake of friendship. Foolishly, like most children, I thought he would change. They only grew more obvious as he grew older, and apparently served him well in his new calling. He rose rapidly through the ranks."

"Over the bodies of anyone who attracted his attention," said Apollo, perusing the file once more. "Look at this! Sheba, he even investigated your father once."

"What?" She looked at the hard copy. It was true. When Cain had been a young, newly-minted Strike Captain aboard the Battlestar _Cerberus_, there had been accusations of both excessive favoritism from one of the junior pilots, and large sums of money missing from the ship's vault. Dorian had turned up, like a Cylon patrol, and begun his work. It seemed that the man's favorite methods were vague accusations, half-truths, and when that didn't bring about the desired results, outright intimidation. While the charges against Cain had ultimately proved to be completely baseless, the whole sordid affair had left a bad taste in the mouths of all concerned, save Dorian, and helped to cement the fellow's reputation as a complete serpent. A man who would do whatever it took to "get his man", no matter the method, or the truth.

"What I want to know," said Solon, after a few moments, "is what he was doing on the _Galactica, _and who murdered him. Now Commander, the forensic data is clear. Your fingerprints were found on Major Dorian's ID pad, and he was wearing your gun in his holster. Also bearing your fingerprints."

"How do you know it was the Commander's?" asked Apollo. "That model was retired over twenty yahrens ago."

"But the serial number has remained he same," countered Solon.

**"How could you possibly trace the ownership of one laser pistol after all these yahrens?" Apollo demanded. "Don't tell me our data records are _that_ thorough, for Sagan's sake."**

**"Ordinarily, they aren't, Apollo," Adama gently interrupted, "But I do believe registering of military issue weapons and equipment is something that was recorded in the Colonial Command Central database, and every ship in the Fleet had it's computer data banks updated periodically. Correct, Sire Solon?"**

**"Yes, that's correct, Commander," Solon said grim-faced. "And that is how we were able to match the serial number on the termination weapon to**the pistol the Commander was issued when he joined the service." Solon referred to the data before him. "A Mark V/1911/45 Model laser side arm, serial number 81-456677/B, issued to Cadet Adama on the date shown here, the seventh day of Apep, in the year 7309." He indicated the entry, which even had a photo of the original issuing form, with Adama's signature, then scrolled through the material some more. "And, Commander, I am sorry to have to add this, but a forensics examination has proven, without any margin of doubt, that your pistol fired the fatal shot that killed Major Dorian. Your old gun _is_ the termination weapon, Commander. There is also the matter of your thumbprint on the Major's ID pad."

"I did not kill Major Dorian, Sire Solon," replied the Commander. "I'm stating that here and now, for the record. I did _not _kill Dorian."

"It is so entered, Commander. But you know the law as well as I do. In these matters, my office has no choice." Solon rose, and looked at the Commander. "Commander Adama, by the powers invested in me as Chief Opposer of the Colonial Nation, I am formally charging you with the termination of Major Dorian as of this date, and placing you under arrest."

**"Now wait a centon!" Apollo exploded, "You can't do this!"****  
****"Captain, believe me, I do not like being put in this position, but the law is quite clear on such matters, and----,"****  
****"That's a complete load of felgercarb!" the Captain wasn't holding any of his fury back. "The law's also clear on other matters too, and so far I haven't seen it come through----"****  
****Before his son could go on, Adama was suddenly on his feet, his expression glowering, "Apollo!" he thundered, "That is enough!"****  
****"I'm sorry, Father, but how in Hades can you expect me to-----"**

**"_Captain!"_****  
****"Do what he says, Apollo," Sheba jumped in quickly, her jaw clenched. "Just do it."****  
****The black-haired Captain was still seething, but with the greatest of reluctance, he nodded. To one side, Tigh was both angered by the turn of events, and also baffled as to what lay behind this silencing of Apollo.****  
****"Sire Solon," Adama said calmly, "I am willing to let the law take its course. But I am certain you are also aware of the gravity of this situation as to how it might effect matters throughout the Fleet as a whole. There is, as you know, a procedure for allowing Colonial jurisprudence to take its course in secret for a designated time."****  
****Slowly, the Chief Opposer nodded, "I know what you're referring to, Commander. I will only promise this. Details of the fact that you are under arrest for the murder of Major Dorian and now face a Tribunal on this can be kept secret from the public only until Tribunal itself is convened. That means in forty-eight centars, unless you have succeeded in providing overwhelming exculpatory evidence, I have no choice but to make this information public."****  
****"I am willing to stipulate to that," Adama said, "In the meantime, I give my pledge to not leave the _Galactica_ under penalty of direct imprisonment, and will for now publicly confine myself to quarters and unofficially place Colonel Tigh in acting command until further notice. Should matters proceed as I hope they will, I will simply state that I was recovering from a bout of…the Sagittarian flu."****  
****"We are agreed then," Sire Solon nodded. "Again...I regret that it has come to this, Commander, and while I am bound by my oath as Chief Opposer, I...do honestly hope that exculpatory evidence will emerge in time."****  
****The Chief Opposer turned and departed. Adama then turned to the executive officer and said firmly, "Assume the Bridge, Colonel. Tell them only what I said before, that I'm in recuperation for now."****  
****"Of course, Adama," Tigh wished he could think of something more meaningful to say at such a difficult instant, but found that he could not. He reluctantly turned and departed, leaving only Apollo and Sheba in the room.****  
****"Apollo," Adama said with displeasure, "You were on the verge of breaking a solemn pledge made only a sectan ago, and I don't appreciate that."****  
****"Father," Apollo was still clearly upset, "This is insane! You're being framed for something that happened decades ago and this is happening to you, and yet Antipas is off the hook for something he's admitted to!"****  
****"Apollo, do not confuse the two situations as identical, because they are not," Adama said forcefully, "Corruption, theft...there are a host of offenses from the pre-Destruction period that its easy to sweep aside in the name of expediency. Pre-meditated termination, as this obviously was, is not one of them. Especially as it occurred on military property in wartime. Sire Solon is right to investigate this. It's his job, and he has to act as the evidence indicates for now. Just be grateful that he's enough of a diplomat to keep things under wraps for a little while before he has to proceed."****  
****"And what about investigating a more recent termination, like Antipas's bodyguard, or Dravius and Jabez?" Apollo shot back. "You said it yourself. You think Antipas killed at least one of them in cold blood to cover his astrum, and you let that slide without even a pretense of an investigation."****  
****"Apollo, you're not helping things at all with this," Sheba jumped in. "Instead of frothing about what you see as unfair double standards, shouldn't you get to work trying to help your father find the evidence that will clear him before this gets made public?"****  
****"Thank you, Sheba," Adama smiled, "I'm glad there's at least one of you who understands the bigger picture right now."****  
****Apollo looked as if he wanted to continue his fight, but found he had no valid reason to keep doing so. He let out an exasperated sigh of defeat and threw up his hands in disgust, "All right." He said, "I'm surrounded. All right, I'll get started. As soon as I get a few centons to collect myself."****  
****"Take a centar to do that," Adama nodded, "And then, when you're ready to think more clearly, I'll give you a full statement about what I know about Dorian, and what you might be able to do to find what will be needed to clear me."****  
****"Okay," Apollo nodded and then came over to his father, wanting to reach out and take his hand in a gesture of love and support. But Adama kept his hands behind his back and his expression stoic, clearly not wanting there to be any displays of emotion right now.****  
****"There'll be time for that later, son," he said gently but firmly, "For now, the best thing you can do for me is to order your mind."****  
****Slowly, Apollo nodded and followed Sheba out.**

"Not _quite_ the way I wanted to take command," said Tigh, as he and Apollo re-entered the bridge. Tigh checked the scanners, then the routine patrol reports. All still clear, no signs of pursuit, but that didn't leave him feeling any less upset…Hades, _angry, _about the events of the past couple of centars. Adama? A murderer? No fracking way would he believe it, no way. Adama was among the kindest, most tolerant and forgiving of men he'd ever known, in his entire life. That he would wantonly…terminate someone, even someone as odious and loathsome as this Major Dorian seemed to have been, was beyond consideration as far as he was concerned. He said as much to Apollo, who had wandered on to the Bridge after pacing the corridors in lonely isolation to purge the feelings of anger and bitterness from his mind. "If you can't solve this in two cycles, Apollo, then the felgercarb will really be flying. What do you think the Council will do?"

"I don't know," said Apollo, for a moment recalling his father nearly throttling Baltar to death in the tomb on Kobol. Sufficiently enraged, he knew that Adama might well be capable of terminating someone. He looked up at Tigh, and realized he'd spoken aloud. Apollo knew he had to choose his words carefully since he knew that Tigh wasn't privy to the secrets of what had been decided last secton regarding Sire Antipas. "The Council isn't scheduled to meet for another secton, so even if it does go public, they won't necessarily move right away."  
"Don't be too sure. They'll more likely call a special session and probably move that Antipas be declared acting President."  
"Actually, I don't think so," Apollo said. "If Antipas is smart, he'll let someone senior like Anton or Montrose be acting President if it comes to that."

_Plus, with what we know about him, Antipas knows that to try and destroy Father is to destroy himself. He won't be that stupid. Unless of course, Siress Lydia tries to goad him into something. Given their relationship, she just might. And he might succumb. _

"Possibly," Tigh conceded, "But I'm not sure that would last long." He then shook his head in disgust, "Why should I be thinking these things though? I should have some hope it's not going to be necessary and this whole matter will get resolved." Ignoring the Colonel's quizzical look, and recalling his pledge to his father never to speak of that incident, he changed the subject.

"I'm on my way to start taking care of that. Hopefully the Commander can give me the details that will let me know where to start." Apollo glanced at his chrono. "I doubt our cover story about Father having the Sagittarian Flu will fool Antipas for long, so I'd best be moving. Well Colonel, if you'll excuse me. I have to go confer with my client." Tigh nodded, grumbling something under his breath. "Colonel?"

"I said…" Tigh dropped his voice, "I wish Sire Antipas would disappear into a bulkhead sometimes."

"I hear you, Colonel," said Apollo, with a half-smile. "Don't tempt me."

"Never crossed my mind," replied the Exec, deadpan.

"Alright, I'm off, sir." Apollo turned to leave.

"Apollo?"

"Yes?"

"God go with you." Apollo halted, surprised to hear such an invocation from the normally agnostical Colonel. After a moment, he replied.

"And you too, Colonel Tigh." As he left the bridge, Apollo practically collided with one of the bridge personnel, just coming on duty. A moment later, he saw Sheba heading towards him.

"I left Boxey in a good mood and happily at play with Muffit, so we can avoid letting him know about this for now," his fiancée said. He told her of his immediate plan. "While you're doing that, how about I do some checking of my own, Apollo? I have some ideas, and we can cover a wider pattern if we split up."

"Spoken like a true Viper pilot." Apollo considered a moment. "But aren't you scheduled to go on patrol in…" he checked his chrono, "in twenty centons or so?"

"Yes, but as Senior Strike Captain, _you_ can of course make changes in the duty roster at your discretion." She smiled knowingly. "After all, Lieutenant Croad's perfectly capable of leading a patrol now, even in that ancient bucket of his, and that new cadet…uh, Sheldrake, can certainly use the cockpit time. I think he's ready for his first patrol. In fact, he's chomping at the bit for it."

Okay," sighed Apollo, quickly resigning himself to her arguments. He knew that part of her drive to help was born out of respect for the Commander, part out her love for him. But he also could see that a great deal sprung from Dorian's long-ago persecution of her father, Cain. She was angry, but she was also extremely curious, a formidable combination in the daughter of Cain. "Go. Follow up whatever you think might be productive, but let's keep in touch, so we can coordinate. Sire Solon won't be letting the tylium dry under his feet." He trailed off.

"No problem, Apollo." She looked at him, his eyes a million light-yahrens away right now. "Hey, Apollo." No response. She blew into his face. "Fleet to Apollo. Respond on this frequency."

"Huh? Oh, just thinking." He looked at his chrono. "I have an idea too, Sheba. And it will require a lot of research."

"Way ahead of you, Captain," she said, heading out. Within a moment, the corridor was empty.

Save for a furtive shadow.

**_Chapter Three_**

Upon his return to his father's quarters, Apollo found him staring, not at the vid screen on his desk, but at an old-fashioned open paper book, with printed likenesses affixed to the pages. Pages yellowed with the passage of many yahrens.

"Dorian?" asked Apollo, looking over his father's shoulder. There was a likeness of Adama, no older than Boxey was now, with another dark-haired boy, standing under a heavily-laden fruit tree on a sunny day, a large furry daggit, tongue hanging out, at their feet.

"Yes, Apollo," he replied, leaning back and sighing. Apollo noted that he had changed out of his uniform, and was wearing civilian clothes now. A leisure suit, some yahrens out of fashion that Apollo hadn't seen in ages. "This was when we lived close by. I was just…remembering."

"He was a good friend, wasn't he?"

"Yes, yes he was, Apollo. We were like…like you and Starbuck in some ways. Always together. Inseparable. More like brothers than just friends." Adama rose, sighing heavily, and moved to the viewport in the bulkhead. "Lords, where did it all go wrong?"

"More to the point, Father, how did he end up stuffed inside the void with his chest blown out?" Apollo waited a few beats. "Father, I believe you, when you say you didn't kill him. I honestly do. But I also know there's more. Something, or things, that you _aren't_ telling Sire Solon." Adama turned to look at his only remaining son. "No, I'm not clairvoyant, Father. But I saw you pick up something that rolled across the deck down in the void when they picked those bones up. You put it in your pocket. Now I haven't said anything to anyone, not even Sheba."

"Apollo…"

"But I'm sure Siress Tinia saw it to, and maybe others. Now before rumors get started, and we all know what they can do, I need to know what it was, and if it's relevant to this case." Apollo waited a few beats, his expression never wavering. As he looked back, Adama was reminded of his own father, the late Commander Noah, of fearsome memory, who had more than once fixed his son with just the same formidable look when he wanted it known that he would tolerate no deceptions or prevarications. Adama looked down, sighed, then looked back at his son.

"You're right Apollo. I must not keep anything from you. Either as my counsel or as my son." He returned to his desk, and reached down, opening a drawer. He reached in, and withdrew the ring he had picked up in the void. He handed it to Apollo. Large and heavy, it was wrought entirely of auric, with a deep red gem set in the center. Around the jewel were inscribed tiny letters in an antique script, but Apollo could not read them.

"Dorian's ring?"

"No, Apollo. It's _my_ ring."

Sheba found Corporal Komma, as usual, with his nose buried in one of the many workstations in the _Galactica'_s main computer room. While she had no idea what it was that absorbed him so, it took her a few centons to manage to get his attention.

"Oh. Oh, sure. Just make sure that you remember to log off the system when you're done, Lieutenant," he told her.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" she replied.

"Well you would be surprised at all the people who come in here, play with the equipment, find what they want, then just scoot right out of here without logging off properly! Damned annoying, I can tell you."

"Well, I'll remember to punch out before I go, Corporal," she told him, trying not to laugh. Komma sometimes tended to think of the computers and such almost as his children.

_Weird man! At least he hadn't asked me about the situation with the Commander. Maybe he hasn't heard yet, with his head stuck in the computers like this_

_He really needs to get out more. _

He led her to an empty work station, and she logged on. Since this was a somewhat sensitive matter, she opted to use the keyboard, rather than the more common vocal interface. It might have been a bit slower, but she had, like many Colonials of her calling, never felt all that comfortable with a machine that talked back to her. It reminded her much too much of the Cylons, **even if the voices they used were normal-sounding human ones.**

As she began her search, she allowed part of her mind to wander elsewhere, thinking about her upcoming sealing with Apollo. There was no way she was going to let this situation interfere with her plans. If even the malevolent Count Iblis, for all his elaborate scheming **with the Derelict vessel they had been led to not long ago**, hadn't been able to keep her and Apollo apart, than certainly no ridiculous charge against the Commander would do so. She wondered for a moment if, perhaps, this _was _another of the Count's plots to make trouble for them. After all, somehow putting a skeleton inside the void was certainly, she felt quite sure, not beyond the Count's powers. Yet, after a few moments reflection, she came to doubt her own idea.

_He hasn't shown up to gloat, Sheba. If it was him, he'd be around. All over us like a cheap tunic. No._

At last, she found the appropriate database, and began to dig in. Some of this stuff was old, and it was only by virtue of Commander Adama's Presidential authorization code that she could open those which had long ago been sealed. She kept at it, oblivious to the comings and goings of others in the computer center.

_Boring._

_Boring._

Bo… 

_Ah! Here we are!_

"Yours?" asked Apollo, a little taken aback. "Your ring? How did your ring end up on a dead man almost thirty yahren ago?"

"Because I lost it, Apollo. I lost it in a fight." Adama held, while Apollo's eyebrows almost disappeared under his hair. "You may have noticed in the autopsy report, the mention of both a broken nose, and a cheekbone?"

"As well as contusions on the skull, and a cracked rib. Yes, I did. I assumed the killer…"

"Dorian and I had a fight, the last time… I broke his nose, and fractured a finger for my trouble. In the fight, the ring must have come off. I couldn't find it afterwards, and never saw it again until now."

"What were you two fighting about, Father?"

"Your mother," replied Adama, after a long pause, and look, at his son. "Does that surprise you at all?"

"I…I suppose it does. I never saw you as the sort to descend to fisticuffs over a woman. Starbuck, yes. But…"

"Well, I was somewhat more…adventurous in my youth, Apollo. Intemperate. But you deserve the whole story. Sit." Apollo did so, and Adama as well. "As I told you, Dorian and I knew each other since we were boys. I was barely six yahren old, he was seven. But when he grew older, something seemed to change." Adama stopped, as if considering his next words. "I knew your mother long before we were sealed, Apollo. Her mother and mine were friends, but it was actually Dorian who brought us together. On a school outing. They were together, but, eventually she gravitated towards me, Lords know why, and we hit it off as you might say. We dated, all through school, sometimes even double-dating with friends."

"Dorian?"

"Yes. A few times. However, Dorian grew to resent her for preferring me, and in time, it was to come between us. After he disappeared, cashiered as I thought, your mother's and my relationship blossomed, and ultimately, my career in the service progressed, and we were sealed, right after I made Strike Captain." Adama scowled. "As we left the chapel, I saw him again."

"Dorian."

"Yes. He was just sitting there, in a back pew, looking at me. A look, I realized later, that was one of pure hatred."

"Did he speak to you or Mother at all?"

"A little. At the reception, he came up, and offered his 'congratulations'. He smiled, a smile like Baltar's."

"I can imagine it, just listening, Father. What else did he say?"

"He congratulated me on both my sealing, and my recent promotion, and said we'd meet again. 'Oh yes, we'll meet again Adama', he said, and then after a long look at your mother, he left. Something in the way he said it left me chilled to the bone."

"How did Mother take it?"

"She was as disgusted as I was, but we dismissed it, and got on with our lives. I didn't see Dorian again until a few sectons after you were born, Apollo, although I learned he had been keeping track of me."

"Why? For what possible purpose?"

"When I was involved with the telekinesis program, we were subjected to a number of security checks. I found out through a friend that Dorian tried to have me excluded from the program."

"Hounding you out of a sense of revenge? Because you got mother and he didn't?"

"Yes, although I learned that later. About the time you were born, I was temporarily suspended from duty, when some intelligence scans went missing aboard the ship I was serving on. Sure enough, Dorian turned up, trying to make me as miserable as he could. Ultimately, it all turned out to be a computer fault, but that didn't matter. He treated us all as if we were Cylon spies."

"The man seemed to enjoy making others miserable," observed Apollo.

"Yes, he did. His parting words to me were; 'You dodged another one, Adama, but don't worry. I'm patient.' And he smiled."

"So how did he end up stuffed in the void aboard the _Galactica_?" asked Apollo. "You said you had a fight with him.

"It was right after I was promoted to Colonel. I was assigned to ship out with Commander Cronus aboard the _Rycon. _However, she wasn't going to be ready to sail for some sectons, and the _Galactica _was just about to leave dock after an extensive overhaul and resupply. My father requested the Admiralty that I be permitted to serve as his Exec during the _Galactica'_s upcoming training cruise, to get my Colonel's feet wet as it were. His usual Exec was taken suddenly ill. Both Cronus and the Admiralty agreed, as there was a lull in the war at the time, and we shipped out."

"How'd it go?"

"Fine. We ran into a single Cylon patrol and took some damage, but otherwise no serious problems. The new pilots acquitted themselves well. I enjoyed serving with your grandfather, and I gained valuable experience during those three sectons. We put back into port, the repair crews got busy, and I got my transfer orders to the _Rycon. _As I was packing up my gear, I learned from one of the stewards that Dorian had come aboard." Adama got up again, to once more look out the port at the passing stars. "I was annoyed, of course. I was looking forward to spending a day or two at home, before heading out again. I was having a last drink with my crewmates in the Officer's Club, when he came in."

_Aboard the Battlestar _Galactica_, Twenty-nine yahrens ago._

"Still aboard, I see," said Dorian, oozing across the OC and sitting down next to Adama, now alone at the bar. He lit a thin fumerello, and took a few puffs. "I would have thought you'd be on your way home, Adama. Bosom of wife and family? I'm sure that little one at home is expecting you. And how is your mother these days?"

"What do you want, Dorian?' sighed Adama, momentarily debating whether or not to throw his ambrosia in the other's face. He decided against it.

_Waste of a good vintage._

"Oh, nothing. Do I _have_ to want something, to stop off and see an old friend?" He slowly sipped his own drink.

"Friend. Yes, of course. And just who are you persecuting this time, Dorian? Did one of the new cadets forget to put the mop and bucket back where they belong? No doubt a major risk to National Security brewing there. Are there some vegetable peelers missing from the galley, again? Or perhaps one of the repair techs down in the orlop used too many welding rods, and didn't file the right requisition forms with the dock's Supply Officer."

"You're funny, Adama," smiled Dorian, with a gentle chuckle. Gentle, yet somehow sharp like razor blades. "You always were. That's one of the things I always liked about you when we were kids, Adama. Your sense of humor."

"Alright, so I have a great sense of humor. I'm sure though you didn't come aboard to hear me tell jokes."

"Sharp as always, Adama. No wonder you made Colonel. Of course," he went on, taking another sip, "having daddy as the decorated Commander of a Battlestar didn't hurt, I'm sure."

Adama set his mug down, and glared at his one-time friend. Dorian smiled again, knowing he'd touched a soft spot. Adama idolized his father, and everyone knew it. He had since earliest days, and Dorian had found it an effective point of attack.

"My record…"

"Is spotless, naturally."

"Not for lack of you trying," said Adama.

"Your latest cruise only adds to your laurels, Adama," replied Dorian, ignoring the barb. "And your new posting, to the _Rycon_?Well, that's going to turn out to be a good thing in the end. Save you a lot of heartache and blame by association, when the felcercarb stars flying."

"What in Hades Hole are you trying to say, Dorian? Speak plainly, provided you still know how."

"Oh I still know how, old friend."

"Don't you 'old friend' me, you equus' astrum," hissed Adama, slamming his mug down loudly, but keeping his voice low. "Spit it out, or get the frack out of here and crawl back under your rock."

"Very well. Colonel. "I'm not here because of _you, _Adama, although that's icing on the cake. I'm here because of your father." Dorian smiled again, his grin cold and cruel, and blew smoke Adama's way.

"My f…"

"Yes indeed, Adama. The revered and venerable Commander Noah. Master of the Battlestar _Galactica. _Hero of Bellerophon Four. Really nice guy. A few smaller fish, yes, but he's the big catch."

"And just what in Hades Hole makes you think…"

"I don't _think_, Adama…"

"On that we agree, Dorian."

"There's that sense of humor, again, Adama. I'll put it simply for you, then." Dorian's voice lost the light, teasing tone of a few moments before, becoming cold and vicious. "He's been implicated in the theft of military property, and embezzlement of funds. As much as a hundred and eighty thousand cubits, possibly more. And I'm going to get him, Adama. No power in the star system is going to stop me from bringing him down."

"My father wouldn't steal a pencil from a blind man with a tin cup, let alone from his own government. You'll never prove that, Dorian. Never."

"Oh but I will. However I have to do it, Adama." Dorian took another sip of his drink. "However I have to do it. And whoever else gets ground under foot."

"I knew you were an insect, Dorian, but for even you, to sink this low…"

"And I'm going to enjoy watching you squirm, while I rip your father to shreds, Adama." The smile was back. "Indeed I will." He waited another beat. "As will, I'm sure, that lovely wife of yours."

Adama grabbed hold of Dorian's tunic, but slowly let go. While he didn't doubt that he could take the other man, he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of losing his temper right here in front of others.

"You're wrong, Dorian. Someone _will_ stop you."

"Oh?" sneered the other with an annoying grin. "And who might that be?"

"Me." Adama's look was cold and steely.

"Ah. The co-conspirator descends to threats." He smiled again. "Oh yes, Adama. I meant it when I said whomever. You and your dear old dada, in on the plot together? That will certainly make the lead story on every network in the Colonies. I'm sure the Cylons will be laughing their…"

"You're a coward, Dorian," said Adama. "You've never forgiven me for testifying against you at the Academy. Or for winning Ila, so you pursue me and my entire family out of a juvenile sense of injured pride. Ila loved _me_, not you, and you have never been able to accept that simple truth. What next? Will Apollo be charged as a Cylon spy?"

"Pah! Ila…"

"Loved me. Loved me, and sealed with _me_, Dorian. She saw you for what you really are, and rejected you, and you can't stand rejection. Can you? Dori?" Adama deliberately used Dorian's childhood nickname, which he had always despised. From the look on Dorian's face, it had the desired effect.

"I am so going to enjoy taking you down, Adama," hissed Dorian, voice low and venomous, as he put out his fumerello stub in Adama's drink. "You've dodged the arrow a few times. You were lucky, I'll give you that. But not this time, old friend. Not this time. And when you and your father are destroyed, the look on Ila's face will pay for all."

This time, Adama forgot about all the extra eyes, and landed a punch to Dorian's nose. The odious fellow fell back, sliding off onto the deck, blood spurting from the injured orifice. Adama looked contemptuously at him, whispered something, and then strode from the room. At the door, he passed others coming in, but paid them no heed.

"And then"? asked Apollo, but the chime sounded. Adama called "enter", and Sheba fairly blew into the room. She was animated, and held a computer data chip in her right hand.

"I've got something!" she said, not even bothering to take a seat.

"What?" asked Apollo.

"Ship's security records for the day this Major Dorian was killed," she replied, voice and face eager as a newly-minted cadet. She slid the chip into Adama's desk reader without even asking.** Apollo shook his head in amazement. **

**"After today, I'm really going to start wondering what kind of trivial felgercarb is still buried in the Fleet database."****  
****"Well just be glad this still exists, Apollo," Sheba said as she pressed two buttons and saw the information come up on the screen. **

Apollo spared a look at his father, and the two men shared a brief smile. "See? Right here. Major Dorian, of Colonial Intelligence, came aboard the _Galactica _at 1155 centars, that morning. The ship had returned to spacedock over Caprica the evening before from a three secton training cruise." She waited while they both studied the readout.

"I see it, Sheba," began Apollo. "But we already know that Dorian was here. How does this…"

"Look, silly!' She scrolled down the data, and then zoomed in on one particular entry. Major Dorian logs in to the ship's computer when he came aboard her at 1155 that morning, Caprica Standard Time. This is his personal ID code. We know that he was terminated sometime after that. So," she said, with a theatricality neither man had ever seen in her before, "if Major Dorian was already dead and stuffed into the void, then who in Hades Hole was it that logged off the ship four centars later?"

**_Chapter Four_**

For almost a full centon, no one said anything, as this piece of news sunk in. Then, Adama broke the silence.

"A good question, Sheba."

"Surely, someone would have noticed," said Apollo. "The shuttle pilot that brought him up. The other passengers. The Warrior on duty at the Security Station. Someone."

"That's where it gets complicated," said Sheba. "There was a Cylon raid that day."

"I remember it," said Adama, frowning. "No sooner had I set foot aboard the _Rycon, _when the alert sounded that a Cylon attack phalanx, then a second one, had penetrated the outer rim defenses. We went on alert, and I rushed straight to the bridge."

"What happened?" asked Apollo.

"We went out to meet them, coordinating with the _Galactica, _and took care of them. Not a single fighter made it to any of the inner planets. We both took a few hits, but that was all."

"Not quite all, sir," said Sheba. "According to the records, the shuttle that was supposedly carrying Major Dorian was attacked by a Cylon fighter, and crashed in the asteroid belt. Totally destroyed and no survivors."

"So I had heard," said Adama. "Hence my surprise in discovering that he's been in the void all these yahrens."

"When exactly was that, Commander? Hearing about his supposed death, I mean."

"The day after the raid, when the casualty reports were posted."

"What happened the last time you saw him alive?"

"Father was telling me all about that, Sheba." Apollo turned back to the Commander. "What happened next, Father?"

"Well, as you can imagine, I was furious with Dorian. I didn't exactly acquit myself like an officer and a gentleman that day, I will admit, Apollo. As a matter of fact…"

"Well Adama, I'm here," said Dorian, his voice sounding flat in the empty corridor. They were down in the orlop, the lowest habitable level on the ship, just a few metrons from space, in all directions but "up". A few Cylon shots had connected, near here. Around them were various items of repair equipment and parts, awaiting the return of the dock crews from mess break, and an open section of bulkhead. His nose was swelling, though he'd wiped the blood away. "So?"

"I," said Adama, trying to keep the lid on his anger, "am surprised you even showed up alone. Being the coward that you are."

"Coward?" said the other, his mocking smile betraying his glee at having struck his foe to the quick. "_This_ from the man who rides to the top on daddy's coat tails."

"At least I didn't make it where I am by tearing down everyone around me with lies and insinuations, and destroying them for the sheer pleasure of watching them squirm." Adama waited a moment. "Or by sleeping my way into a passing grade. Not, I recall, that you were actually _sleeping._"

"Well, I've always believed a person should go with his natural talents, Adama. I admit it," and he laughed, lighting up another fumerello. "I'm a natural born bloodhound."

"A natural born parasite is more like it, Dorian. Maybe, once, when we were boys you were a decent person, but something went wrong in you. A long time ago. Look at yourself. You've become a bloodsucking serpent. Someone who gets their pleasure out of ruining other people's lives."

"You're one to talk!" snapped Dorian sharply. "What did you do to me, Adama? Eh? You dirty little tattle-tale!"

"You cheated, Dorian. There is no room in our profession for cheating. Not when the lives of our fellow Warriors may come to depend on what we've learned. No one…"

"Blah blah blah blah blah," sneered the other. "A couple of questions on a test no one even takes any more."

"You still don't get it, do you? You are a liar and a cheat, and you accuse me of the very thing you've done. Don't tell me you got into the Thirteenth Directorate on the strength of whose wife you bedded, Dorian, or that holovid star profile of yours. I know about your family connections, so don't give me any of your felcercarb about my father, and…"

"To Hades with you, Adama!" snarled Dorian. "I didn't come here to listen to you preach like Prior Selwyn in Worship Day Chapel. Now _there _was a total fracking astrum of a bore! Anyway, unless you have something of actual _value_ to say, I'm leav…"

"No, you're not," said Adama, putting a hand on the other's shoulder, and pushing back.

"What are you thinking to do, then? Hhmm? Kill me?"

"Leave my father alone. You're only going after him to get your sick revenge on me, Dorian. Leave him alone."

"Sorry Adama, can't. Love to, but can't. Besides, you're due to ship out anyway, so you'll miss most of the festivities." Dorian stopped, another malignant smile coming to his lips. "Unless of course you want to stick around, and get ground under with him. No? Oh well. I'm sure he'll understand." He shrugged theatrically. "You know, maybe, while you're off saving civilization from the tinheads, I could even keep Ila company. Hhmm? With you gone, and her father-in-law in the brig, I'm quite sure she'll be needing some…companionship?" he grinned even more cruelly. "Such a pretty woman, don't you agree? So lovely. And that little one…Apollo, is it? You know, have you ever wondered just who it is he looks like, Adama? Black hair, devastatingly good looks. Remind you of anyone you kn…"

Dorian stopped, a loud "oof" escaping his lips, as Adama let him have it with a hard right cross. Before Dorian could so much as draw breath, Adama shoved him back into the bulkhead. Hard.

"Filthy…:"

"Frack you, Adama!" spat the other, and tried to push by. Adama lost his temper again, and swung, striking Dorian square across the face. There was a loud crack, the fumerello went flying, and the man staggered back, blood splattering his face and uniform.

"Don't you ever speak like that to me again," said Adama, face red with fury. "You are not worthy to even speak her name. You're not worthy even to clean Apollo's diapers, you…" Adama momentarily lost the power of speech, and struck the other once more. Dorian reached for his weapon, but quick as a flash, Adama kicked the pistol out of Dorian's hand, and drew his own. After a tense moment, he tossed it away.

"I'll kill you for that, you fracking piece of equus mong!" snarled Dorian, cradling his gun hand. "You hear me! You are dead, Adama!" Without waiting, he attacked.

Adama went down, Dorian, with surprising speed, on top of him, striking him with both fists. But, Adama had not been Academy grappling champion two yahrens in a row for nothing. He caught hold of Dorian's arm, and managed to flip the other man over. Once on his back, Dorian got Adama's knee in his gut, his breath exploding out of him.

But Dorian was no slouch, either. He managed to get his legs in the air, and heaved Adama off of him, moving quickly away, and getting to his knees. Both men were gasping heavily, Dorian cradling his ribs. He reached out to steady himself, and his hand fell upon a length of pipe, neatly stacked with the rest. He gripped it, brandishing it as a weapon as he regained his feet.

"I'm so going to enjoy beating the felcercarb out of your skull, Adama," rasped Dorian. "Feeling this pipe connect, hearing it splatter like a piece of rotten fruit as I cave your fracking head in! I've dreamed of this for so long…""

"Then shut up, and fight like a man, Dorian. If of course you _are_ one!" Dorian snarled like a beast at the insult, and lunged. But Adama was ready. He dodged the other's blow, gripping his arm with both hands, and twisted him around, at the same time bringing his knee up once more. He slammed Dorian into a stack of equipment, gaining hold of the pipe as Dorian went down. He struck the other across the back, and with a cry of pain, Dorian fell on his face.

"Had enough?" said Adama, feeling the blood singing in his ears, fighting the urge to kill. "Get up. Get up, you…:" With a grunt he fell, as Dorian back-kicked him in the legs. He rolled away, loosing his grip on the pipe just in time to miss a boot in his face.

But as before, Adama was the better fighter. He swung back with one leg, hooking Dorian's ankles, and the miscreant fell again. Quickly, too quickly from the shots of pain tearing up his back, Adama grabbed hold of Dorian by his belt, then his collar. He struck him across the face once, a second, and then a third time. His hand spattered with Dorian's blood, he shoved the limp man away, and he fell hard against a pile of equipment.

For the briefest of moments, Adama considered erasing Dorian permanently, as he picked up the fallen pipe, and standing over the insensate man. How easy it would be, he told himself. Rid himself, and society in general, of this serpent.

_No! I would be no better than him,_ Adama told himself. While any scrap of friendship had died long ago, he just could not bring himself to violate the most sacred teachings of the Lords. As his adrenaline began to ebb, and he felt one finger on his left hand begin to throb, Adama tossed the pipe away, and grabbed the now-limp Dorian by his collar, and moved him to a sitting position, propped against a stack of machinery. Next to him, he saw Dorian's ID pad, fallen from his belt, and picked it up. Before he could do aught else, the intercom sounded.

"_Attention, transport shuttle to the _Rycon, _leaving in ten centons. Repeat, transport shuttle to the _Rycon _leaving in ten centons."_

With a heavy sigh, Adama straightened his uniform. As he did so, he heard the lift at the far end of the corridor start up. Someone was coming. Not wishing to be found in so invidious a predicament, Adama picked up and holstered the nearest pistol, and tossed the ID pad onto the limp form, and he beat something of a hasty retreat the other way, till he came to another lift, and headed up.

"It wasn't until I was already aboard the shuttle that I realized my old family ring was gone," Adama concluded. "It must have come off in the struggle with Dorian. It was never a tight fit, and as I said, once aboard the _Rycon, _the alert sounded, and I had other things to think about."

"What about the broken finger you mentioned?" asked Apollo.

"Doctor Asclepius on the _Rycon_ took care of that, once we'd stood down. I made up some story, and that was that.

"And no one so much as mentioned Major Dorian again?" asked Sheba, looking at the old ring. It was well worn, having been passed on to Adama by his maternal grandfather, and had been in the family for over eight hundred yahrens. "That seems kind of odd."

"No. Not a word, either about him or his so-called investigation, which surprised me a little at the time. But as he was reported killed in a shuttle crash during the raid, I suppose I shouldn't be, Sheba. Nobody was looking for him, apparently."

"Yes. Nobody was looking because after he was stuffed into the void, someone logged off the ship with his ID, and that was that." She fell silent a moment. "But how? His ID pad was found with him. Surely someone didn't use it, then come back and bury it with him."

"That hardly seems likely, no," said Adama. "And whoever it was coming down the lift _must _have seen him, lying there. He was still breathing when I left him. Of that I'm quite sure."

"And whoever shot him picked up what was in fact your laser, Commander, since you picked up Major Dorian's by mistake."

"Foolish of me not to have noticed that at the time, Sheba. I lost the one I took from Dorian a secton or so afterwards on a landing party mission, and never realized the difference. It was replaced and I forgot all about it." He considered a moment. "And speaking of forgetting, did you discover who sealed Dorian's file?"

"No name, sadly. Only a number. A number I traced to the Thirteenth Directorate, but ran into another wall after that. It was sealed the day _after_ he was terminated, by the way, Commander."

"Father,' said Apollo, "that ID pad of Major Dorian's. Sire Solon's report doesn't say if it still had any power left in the cell."

"It shouldn't, after all these yahrens, Apollo. Those older models…ah, I see."

"Exactly. I think I'm going to pay a visit to Doctor Wilker's lab."

"And I'm going to check out something I've in mind, too," said Sheba, as she and Apollo stood.

"Sheba,' said Apollo, once out in the corridor, "you know what this all means, of course."

"Yes. Whoever found Major Dorian in the orlop not only didn't report it, they didn't help him either. He never went to Life Station, and someone else logged off the ship as he."

"Which means, my own true love…"

"Yes. The real killer might still be around somewhere."

**_Chapter Five_**

"The odds are eight to one against me, guys. Sooooooooo, place your bets." Starbuck told the assembled men as he lounged on his bunk with the cards in his hand. He fingered the cards as he waited while the pilots dumped their cubits in an impressively increasing pile on Boomer's bunk and he lined up his angle of trajectory.

Giles practically climbed onto the bunk beside him as he minutely studied the shot. It wouldn't be easy. The target, Boomer's left combat boot, was angled in the opposite direction, therefore, he'd have to bank the shot off the bunk frame. "How many shots?"

"Three out of five to win, Giles." Starbuck told him as inhaled deeply from his fumarello. As per usual when he was gambling, he was as calm as still water.

"Can we make it four out of five?" Giles asked.

"That would change the odds and increase my take, pal. Works for me," Starbuck informed him rather indifferently. He didn't care one way or the other. He was feeling that way about a lot of things lately, come to think of it.

"What do you say, guys?" Giles asked them eagerly. There was no way Starbuck could hit the boot four times. He doubted he could do it twice. This would be easy money sitting back and watching.

Starbuck watched them all check out the set up and discuss it among themselves. He was supposed to be doing a snap inspection of the billet. Tigh had mentioned it to him specifically when the Colonel had referred to the billet as _the porcine pen that he had the displeasure to pass through_. He had checked a few lockers and bounced a few cubits off bunks when something inside of him just snapped. Nope, he just couldn't do this felgercarb anymore.

Lords, how long had it been since he had been demoted to Colonial Lackey? Third Class. Too frackin' long! He had been given every mind-numbing assignment that had made it across Apollo's desk in the last secton. A few of those duties had probably been pulled from deep within a dust covered archaic filing system, that now, by the way, was properly labeled, filed, and even color-coded by Squadron. Starbuck was certain that nobody even looked at it anymore. He'd even had to give the introductory speech to the latest batch of recruits, including one of those blue Zohrloch guys. Lords, he hadn't joined the Colonial Service to fly a fracking desk!

Starbuck looked over at a bulkhead, wondered how hard it would be if he banged his head against it, then sighed as he thought back to his actions that had precipitated his restricted duty designation. It was still vivid in his mind, standing around the bridge scanning for some sign of Sheba in the asteroid field that had swallowed her whole. He had _never_ seen Apollo so emotional on the bridge. Lords, Apollo knew they couldn't search much longer, and clearly had begun to give up hope. Starbuck couldn't fathom what Apollo must have been feeling as Adama had begun to call the search off, but he could swear that he saw something in his friend just . . . die.

Now, Apollo without hope would be a very scary thing indeed. Frack, it was the Captain that kept them all going on a cycle to cycle basis on this hunk of metal in the middle of nowhere. Starbuck for one was not willing to give up on Apollo or Sheba at that centon.

Okay, _maybe _he got a little out of hand. It could have been a lot worse though, and would have been if Rigel's sudden announcement of picking up Sheba's signal hadn't stopped him from saying what was really on his mind. Yeah, he'd have been cleaning turbo flushes full-time if his temper had really had a chance to make itself known. Tigh knew it too. That was why as yet these fracking duties were unrelenting. Either that or the good Captain had just forgotten about him.

Starbuck clamped his teeth tightly on his fumarello as he thought about how it used to be him that was at Apollo's side as his friend and wingman. Oh, it wasn't like he was jealous or anything . . . well, not really. He just didn't think Apollo would forget he existed. _Watch out what you wish for, Bucko, or he'll have you checking out leaking air locks next!_

Then there was this new duty where he was suddenly personally responsible for handling the training of some Councilman's brat named Pelius. Starbuck had his nose stuck in training manuals almost all of his "time off" to prepare for his imminent assignment. To top it off, Sheba had somehow finagled her way out of it. He'd even heard that recently she got herself replaced on patrol at the last centon to dash off with Apollo for something. Unfortunately, he didn't know what yet. Apparently, she was achieving a new special status as Apollo's fiancée!

_Well, at least you're not bitter!_

Frack, he knew it had nothing to do with Sheba, or Apollo, or Tigh, or anyone else for that matter. It was his own damn fault he was in this predicament. The ridiculous thing was . . . he'd do it again if given the choice to go back and change things. As much as everyone else disagreed with him he _still_ thought he'd done the right thing. Oh, sure, his timing was a bit off! If he could have just held his tongue for ten more microns he would have been on the rescue team that went to recover Sheba instead of fuming in the billet, staring at locker art. That was life. At least, that was _Starbuck's_ life.

"Okay, Starbuck, you're on." Giles told him as the warriors coughed up additional cubits to cover the new odds.

"Last chance, guys. Ante up." Starbuck grinned as he threw his own cubits on the pile. He winked reassuringly at Boomer, Greenbean and Jolly who had agreed to back him, purely on the basis that he promised to pay them back if he lost. Boomer was looking a little nauseated, but face it, Boomer often did during a bet.

"Everyone ready?" Starbuck asked as he slightly adjusted his position. "Launch."

It was a thing of beauty as he put the perfect spin on the card. It rotated perfectly through the air as it hit its mark on the bunk frame and rebounded into the boot.

"Frack." Giles muttered as he realized that he'd been had. That had looked way too easy. He remembered Starbuck did have a lot of time on his hands these days and had clearly spent it practicing this seemingly impossible shot.

"It's all in the wrist, Giles 'ol friend," Starbuck winked at him as he launched his second card. It followed its predecessor into Boomer's boot. There was a low groan of disappointment in the billet, but Starbuck did notice that Boomer was looking better.

"Okay, give, Starbuck. What's your record?" Bojay asked in disgust as card number three hit the target.

"Bojay, I'm hurt you would think such a thing." Starbuck stated dramatically as card four landed perfectly. "Truly, truly hurt." Silence. "Eighty-eight consecutive," he added and grinned as Boomer, Greenbean and Jolly whooped in joy. Yeah, this was _definitely_ more fun than a snap billet inspection. "Later, gentlemen, I'll be taking bets in the duty office on when Apollo and Sheba will have their first fight, who will instigate it, and who will be the first to cave . . . sorry, make that kiss and make up." He swept up his share of the cubits and left the billet a much happier man.

**"A Battlestar carries a large complement in its crew,' said the Strike Captain, "but a list of people still on active duty who were serving aboard the **_Galactica_** back then, can't be that big a list to begin with."**

"Can't be all that many, no," replied Sheba. "Almost thirty yahrens. A lot will have retired, been lost in combat, transferred before the Holocaust. I can't imagine it's going to be a _long_ list."

"Well, long or short, let's hope our Electronic Oracle of the Ancient Mysteries still has what we need buried in it's guts somewhere."

"You said it," laughed Sheba. "O Club, in a centar or so?"

"You got it."

They split up, Sheba heading first for barracks, since she had an after-action report that was _long _overdue, then it would be off to "Corporal Komma's Corral" as it was sometimes called. She had a few lines of research in mind, and if they led her to where she _thought _they were leading her…

Apollo found Wilker absent from his lab. Again. It seemed that the main computer system aboard the recently acquired _Hegal _was giving the crew fits, and he was there dealing with it. In his place, Apollo found Technician "Hummer", manning the battlements in his place. Apollo didn't mind; he found that he preferred the younger fellow's company to Wilker's anyway, in spite of his egregious taste in "music".

"Anything new?" he asked the junior scientist, after he'd pulled off the fellow's earphones. He'd been filled in on Adama's story, but only the bare facts of the case.

"Well, none of this stuff is 'new', Captain. If you know what I mean." He chuckled a bit, but Apollo just gave him a deadpan look in return. "Okay. First, the ID Pad." He rolled his chair across the deck, retrieved the item in question, and rolled back so fast Apollo could scarcely follow him. "It is indeed Major Dorian's," he continued, plugging the device into a terminal. At once, information began scrolling up the screen at "Hummer's" workstation. "I recharged the old power cell in it, and she fired right up. Here we have the fellow's ID, his picture, and the usual felcercarb we all carry. He even had 6,237 cubits and 7 quantums left in his bank account when he was croaked."

"Excuse me?" glared Apollo.

"Okay. Anyway, several of the files in it were encrypted, but I hacked them all. It seems he was logged in aboard the _Galactica_ on the day in question. Only, according to this file," he pointed to the screen, "he never left the ship."

"But how is that possible? Our records show he logged off the ship about four centars after coming aboard. Have you double checked all the data in that thing?"

"Yes, and none of it has corrupted, Captain. The power cell seems to have been low when the Major died, and ran down soon afterwards. That was before the newer models came out, with a much longer cell life." He clicked a few more keys. "My only suggestion, Captain, is that someone falsified an entry in the _Galactica'_s databanks." He picked up the old device. "It was keyed to the Major's right thumbprint, and no one else's. Without machinery like this, it won't work for anyone else. These things don't lie."

"Unless they're helped," replied Apollo. "Okay, what about the clothes?"

"No surprises. We found traces of the Commander's blood on the uniform, in a spray pattern that matches his story. It all fits."

"And the pistol?"

"Ah! Yes," said "Hummer", once more speeding across the deck, retrieving the weapon, and wheeling back in less than one breath. "The serial number checked, of course. Now these old guns didn't record the ID of the last shooter, but they did record the number of shots. And from whenever the Commander last recharged it, it fired only a single shot. There was even some blow back."

"Blow back?" asked Apollo.

"Yes. If I," he said, pressing the pistol against Apollo's uniform, "were to shoot you at point blank, or even within one or two centimetrons, the material of your uniform would actually blow back some onto the muzzle of the gun." Apollo gently pushed the weapon away. "Here, let me show you." He rolled to a test stand, inserted a power cell, and held the weapon very close to a piece of fabric. He fired, then showed Apollo the muzzle. "See?" Apollo looked close. He could just make out tiny fragments of the fabric, charred and almost invisible. "After thirty yahren it wasn't easy, Captain, but we found blow back like that on the laser, and it was a match with the carbonized material in Major Dorian's uniform."

"I see, " said Apollo, wondering how this was positive news for Adama. All it proved was that his pistol had killed the Major. Hardly exculpatory evidence to lay before a Tribunal.

"Yes, but also look at _this,_" said "Hummer". He called up another file, and bade Apollo look at the screen. "We found another fingerprint, on the laser that killed Major Dorian. A print that _overlay _the Commander's prints." The younger man was silent for a few moments.

"Can you identify it?" asked Apollo.

"No, sadly. It was too smeared to get any useable data." Apollo sagged. "But, never fear, Captain." "Hummer" smiled at him. "There _were_, in the smudged print, microscopic bits of skin."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning," said the other, grinning like someone who really enjoys their work, "that whoever wasted this Dorian fellow, left what we in the trade call epithelials on it. Skin cells, containing the perp's DNA."

"The 'perp'?"

"_Per-pet-ra-tor_," said "Hummer", slowly. _Sheesh! _"Anyway, whoever it was left something of themselves behind."

"Can you do a…"

"Already in the pot and cooking, Captain," replied the other. "Since we don't have the goodies to do a proper boost and scan here, I sent all our stuff to Doctor Paye."

"Thanks, uh...Hum…"

"Hummer, sir."

"Hummer? I've never heard a name like Hummer."

"It's not…common, Captain." Silence. "Okay. Humuhumunukunukuapua'a. Sir."

"Oh."

As Apollo left the lab, armed with new information and possible new courses of action, his commlink beeped. It was Doctor Salik.

Sheba was in Life Station.

**_Chapter Six_**

"I said I'm okay!" insisted Sheba, raspy-voiced, for the forty-somethingth time. "All it was was just a crack on the head."

"With a heavy steel bar. And an attempt at strangulation," Doctor Salik reminded her.

"I know, I know." She looked up at Apollo. "We're on the right track, Apollo."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that hardly have we started working on this case, then someone tries to kill me." She stopped as Salik turned her head, running a diagnostic instrument over her skull. The results were shown up on a monitor.

"What did you see?" Apollo asked, perhaps a bit more sharply than he had intended.

"Well, I went into the barracks office, like I said, to finish up that last after-action report. I had no sooner reached the desk, when I heard a noise. I turned, and I saw stars. Someone bashed me across the head with something. I found this on the floor," she said, pointing to a metal bar on the table. "I must have ducked at the last instant," she finished.

"Which saved your life," said Salik. "You narrowly missed having your skull caved in, Lieutenant."

Apollo took a slow, deep breath. "What happened then?" he asked, fighting to  
keep his voice level.

"The boray jumped me and tried to strangle me when I fell. I was dazed for a few  
microns, so he got the advantage at first." Sheba cleared her throat and gently  
rubbed her sore neck. "But that didn't last long. I broke his hold with a knee to his gut, and got in a few solid hits before the rotten coward got away from me. He took off like a  
frightened lepon, and slipped out the opposite hatch. I tried to follow, but  
by the time I reached the exit, he was gone. . . . the golmonging . . ." Sheba muttered in anger, letting her voice trail off.

Apollo felt his own blood beginning to boil. "Okay, the man you saw; was he tall? Short? Fat? Husky?"

"Hard to say. I couldn't see a lot of detail, except that he was wearing a uniform jacket, and had a pilot's helmet on."

"Now there's someone _really_ likely to stand out on a Battlestar," growled Apollo. He turned back to Sheba.

"I didn't see a lot of his face, Apollo, what with the helmet and all. It was definitely a man, and he was around your height." She paused to think, her brow knitted slightly as she rubbed absently at her throat. "I got the vague impression that he was older, somehow. I'm not sure. But beyond that…" She shrugged.

"Frack!" spat Apollo, the word exploding from his lips.

"Like I said, Apollo, we're on the right track!" said Sheba, sliding off the examination table. She shook her head "But, sheesh! Maybe I need to reserve a permanent berth  
in this place! Or maybe sign up for frequent flyer maxims."

Apollo put a hand on the Lieutenant's arm. "Sheba, from what you've told me,  
it could have been a lot worse." He managed a smile. "But that guy got more  
than he bargained for." He looked over at Cassie. "Don't cross the daughter of Cain!"

"Better believe it," Sheba grumbled, feeling more than annoyed that the man  
had gotten away. It left her feeling…vulnerable. And she _hated _feeling vulnerable.

"I'm forced to agree with you, Sheba. But I think maybe you should throttle back on your playing detective for a bit. No pun intended."

"Why?"

"Well…"

"Because I'm a wo…"

"No! Because you're a target!" said Apollo, not anxious for an argument to start. "I don't want you winding up like Major Dorian did, Sheba. If you're right…"

"Which I am," she shot back, arms crossed defiantly, scowling.

"Then the murderer of Major Dorian _is _still alive, and is _still_ aboard the _Galactica, _as unlikely as that may have seemed a centar ago."

"Well, then I had better get back to work," she said, reaching for her jacket. "There's a lot of stuff that still needs to be tracked down, and if I…"

"If _I _might have a word or two," said Doctor Salik. "Lieutenant, you have had a blow to the head. A serious one."

"I feel fine," she shrugged.

"Perhaps, but _feel_ and _are _can be two different things in medicine. While I see no signs of one yet, you could still develop a hematoma at the site of the injury, and that wouldn't be good. So…"

"But…"

"No buts. You are staying the night right here, for observation, Lieutenant." She opened her mouth. "Medical order."

"Arrrrrrrrrrrr!" she snarled, and sat down. She glared at Apollo, and turned away.

"Sheba," Apollo started. Why did he suddenly feel like he was having an argument with a six yahren old boy? _I'll wager a secton's pay Cain was like this as a kid! _"Would you look at me?"

Sheba sighed loudly and turned around to consider him, eyes wide and glaring. Her head was throbbing despite her assurances to the contrary. Frack, why did this felgercarb always seem to happen to her? She had been injured too frequently lately and it was obviously making Apollo feel _protective_. Lords of Kobol, how wonderfully _male_ of him! Well, she was an adult and didn't need anyone molly-coddling her. Not even Apollo, and definitely not in a professional capacity! "Fine. I'm looking at you."

"Sheba, for Sagan's Sake, you're acting like Boxey!" Apollo snapped, instantly regretting it. The stress of the situation was getting to him. Not only was his father up on charges for termination, but also someone had just throttled his fiancée after attempting to put a dent in her skull. Luckily, her head was as hard as rock, which was becoming abundantly clear to him.

"Really?" she drawled dangerously as her eyes narrowed and her teeth clenched. "Well, thanks a lot for bringing that to my attention! I can't begin to tell you how much that helps." She watched as he rolled his eyes in frustration. "Look, Apollo, I'm an adult and I don't need you or anyone else telling me how I should behave. I've actually managed to conduct myself appropriately for quite some time now without anyone else's supervision."

"Uh, excuse me," Dr. Salik muttered uncomfortable as he gave Apollo a sympathetic glance and hurried away.

Apollo looked around to notice all eyes in the Life Station upon them. "Sheba, could we do this later . . . maybe in private," he muttered quietly, trying to minimize the attention that was on them.

_Lords, raising her must have been fun!_

Sheba snorted. How _just _like a man! Just as things start to come to a head, he was clamming up! She looked over to see Cassiopeia looking at her in sympathy. Well, it was good to see _someone_ was on her side. "Let's just get this straight, Apollo," Sheba lowered her voice. "You may think I'm acting like Boxey, but that does not give you the right to treat me like a disobedient child!" As she spoke, she could feel her anger rising, not dissipating as she had expected. Lords, she just had so much tension inside her she felt like a rubber band that was about to snap!

Apollo just stared at her. He tried to remember that she had just been in a life-threatening situation and that this could possibly be shock . . . or genetics! He ground his teeth together and exhaled slowly as he watched her glaring at him. Lords, how could a Strike Captain and a decorated leader of men be struck dumb by the insinuations of one furious female? He finally realized that they both were doing a very good  
imitation of a couple of quarreling children He noticed Giles had entered the Life Station and was watching them curiously. What the frack was _he_ up to?

"Hello! Are you listening to me?" Sheba asked in frustration as she caught him gazing intently across the Life Station. She turned to see a flustered Giles staring back looking entirely too guilty for some reason.

"Sheba, don't take this the wrong way, _please_, don't take this the wrong way . . . " Apollo was trying to remember just how this argument had started. "I'm just concerned about you . . . I could have lost you . . .permanently." His eyes pled with her for understanding. Frack, he didn't want to be doing this at all, never mind here and now.

Something in his face stopped the retort on her lips. Frack, what in Hades was she doing? At a time they should be clinging together for support she was tearing them apart with petty accusations based on stress, frustration . . . and one Hades of a headache. Lords, she was supposed to be setting an example for Boxey in the future. Some 'mother' _she_ was going to be. She closed her eyes.

"Sheba," Apollo whispered tentatively.

She took another deep breath. When she opened her eyes, the anger was gone, replaced by regret. "Apollo, I'm sorry . . . Sometimes, I'm such a bovine-headed, rock-brained…"

"And the Cylons know it, and tremble!' he smiled.

"Thanks, Apollo," she laughed.

"I've got you," Apollo murmured quietly. He smiled his thanks to Cassiopeia as the med tech pulled a curtain around them for privacy. "And I'll never let go."

"…eighty, ninety, a hundred," said Starbuck, as the cubits clinked into Giles outstretched hand. "Lucky daggit!"

"Must be the company I keep," said the other.

While Sheba remained under Salik's watchful eye for the moment, Apollo headed out to follow up the various leads. With Sheba out of action for the moment, he decided he needed some help. Who? He considered Starbuck, someone who knew more than he ought to about finding things out. But the Lieutenant was still under disciplinary restrictions, and unless there were a sudden full-scale attack, he did not want to go against Colonel Tigh's orders in that regard. Athena? She certainly had reason to want to help clear their father, but she was still assigned to bridge duty, and despite everything, something buried deep his atavistic self was reluctant to involve a woman, _any _woman, in something so risky. After all, whoever it was had tried to erase Sheba, and damn nearly succeeded; they would hardly balk at removing Athena as well, should she suddenly become an irritant. And, were Adama to lose another of his children, Apollo doubted if he'd ever really recover.

Of course! Boomer. He was an electronics genius, and knew almost as much about how to _really _search a data bank as Corporal Komma did. He was also one of the trustworthiest of people, whose loyalty to Adama approached near-religious zeal. Yeah, Boomer would do just fine.

_Just _Boomer.

"Okay, so," said Apollo, as he walked the corridor to the computer room along with Boomer and Athena, "I need everything you can possibly dig out of those data banks." He handed Boomer Sheba's data chip. "Cross-checks, personnel records, medical data, anything and everything, the works."

"You got it," said Athena, smiling her "I got you" smile at her brother. "We'll find everything you need to clear Father, Apollo. Tell him I'll visit as soon as I can."

"I will," said Apollo. They came to the computer room, and she took the chip from Boomer's hand, and sailed inside. Boomer stopped, and looked at Apollo.

"And I am needed why?" he asked, hands on hips, and the two old comrades smiled.

"Harder to keep away than a tigron from fresh meat," said Apollo.

"I heard that!" came a shout from within.

The genetic evidence was ready, and Apollo tried to understand all the technobabble Medtech Waheeb was shooting his way. Plainly put, they had been able to boost enough of the remaining material in the cells found in the smudged print to get a profile.

"As you can see, Captain, we managed to get a full profile of this person's DNA. Both nuclear _and_ mitochondrial. It was a man, and from the scans, beyond question he was Sagittarian in origin."

"Any identity, yet?"

"No, sir. However, the data banks retain a vast catalogue of genetic profiles. We keep them for purposes of post-combat identification of the dead, in the event a body should be unrecognizable, or incomplete. However," Waheeb looked back up at the monitor, "this fellow was never a Viper pilot. I can tell you that much."

"How can you tell that from a gene scan?" asked Apollo, eyebrows furrowed. He looked from Waheeb back at the screen.

"Here," said Waheeb, pointing to part of the graphic. None of it made the slightest sense to Apollo, but obviously Waheeb was reading it like a book. "The owner of this particular DNA was colorblind, Captain."

"Colorblind?"

"Completely. Utterly unable to perceive colors, the way you and I do." He pointed to a small something-or-other on a screen. "This is the X chromosome, and the photopigment genes lie in a head to tail tandem array on the q-arm of the X-chromosome. Our patient seems to have a substitution of amino acids in the codons, similar to the L1M2 hybrid…"

"Please, Tech. None of this means a thing to me. Simply put, you are saying what?"

"Simply put," said Waheeb, a bit deflated at having his lecture curtailed, "he couldn't see any color at all, the rarest form of the disease. As you know, that would disqualify a person from Viper pilot training, as well as most other military functions. It can be cured, now. A new gene replacement therapy became available, a few yahrens before the Holocaust. But given the date of this sample? Our mystery man never served a day aboard any military vessel or base. Not in any regular military capacity, at any rate, Captain."

"Which will make him a whole lot harder to pin down," said Apollo. "What else did you find?" He indicated the screen.

"From the state of the telomeres on the chromosome ends, he was reasonably young. No more than forty, Captain."

"The telo…uh, yeah. Anything else?"

"Well, he had albinism."

"Albinism? He was white?"

"As the driven snow. No pigment in his skin, and his eyes would have been white as well. He also carried a recessive gene for Pelion's Syndrome. That's a serious respiratory illness affecting newborns. But he didn't suffer from it. He was just a carrier."

"Well, we've got to search anyway, Tech. Run him thorough the database regardless. And we don't have a lot of time, remember."

"I understand sir. The Commander doesn't really have the flu sir, does he?" Apollo turned, and glared at the other fellow.

"How…?"

"No one from here has been to see him, sir. Unusual in a patient with Sagittarian Flu, given the possible complications in a man the Commander's age. Besides, we hear things, even down here, Captain," said Waheeb, dropping his voice very low. "Don't worry; my medical oath extends to this as well."

"Thanks, Tech." Apollo visibly relaxed.

"Waheeb, sir."

"Waheeb. And call me if you get anything. No matter the centar."

"You can count on it, Captain."

"Thanks."

**_Chapter Seven_**

Armed with this new evidence, Apollo informed Athena and Boomer of what Medtech Waheeb had uncovered. Someone as different as the mysterious man surely must have been would have stood out anywhere.

He also found a clue in regards to Sheba's attacker. A complete inventory check had turned up one laser pistol missing from the arsenals and unaccounted for. The number of people with access to the lockers was limited, and a search of the logs was in progress. A pilot's jacket was also found, dumped in a storage closet, one deck above the barracks where Sheba had been attacked. It was being examined, but so far it was as clean as they come. The helmet's location was still unknown.

Apollo checked his chrono; he had twenty-nine centars to go, before the Tribunal must convene, and the whole ugly mess would become a matter for public scrutiny. While he knew beyond all doubt his father to be innocent, he also knew that the law would, and indeed must, take its predetermined course. If only he could get a continuance. A brief one, to give himself and his team more time to dig up what was turning out to be a very confusing mass of data. Continuances were rare, but not unheard of, "in extraordinary circumstances" in Colonial jurisprudence. Moreover, he could argue that trying to collect meaningful data from a crime scene after a nearly thirty-yahren delay was quite "extraordinary".

He checked in with Sire Solon, and learned that Sire Memnon, a long-retired member of the Arean Senate as well as a highly respected former Supreme Tribunal jurist of enormous experience, had been approached, and had said that he would agree to act as Chief Magistrate in this case. It was a good choice, Apollo decided. No one on the Council could in all probity do so, since they were either friends (or enemies) of Adama, and Solon had flatly refused to even consider Colonel Tigh for the position. Memnon was well known for his conscientiousness, and utter fairness, and had the added benefit of having never met Adama. No one objected to his appointment.

Thing was, would he agree to grant Apollo more time?

"I think my eyes are going to shrivel up if I have to stare at this screen for much longer," said Boomer, as the data scrolled by.

"Mine too, but we can't stop, Boomer."

"I have some eye drops," said Komma, suddenly hovering near. Athena just scowled at him, and the Corporal moved away.

"The evidence to clear father is in here," she continued. "We just have to dig it out."

"I just hope we dig it out in _time_, Athena." She turned to scowl at him. "Sorry, but you know what I meant."

"I know. I didn't mean to glower." She turned back to the equipment. "Ah."

"Got something?"

"Maybe. From what I remember at the Academy, those Intel creeps tended to work in pairs, Boomer. Major Dorian _must_ have had someone assigned to work with him on his investigations."

"Yeah, I remember that, too. Good idea."

And here…yes. Here we have a list of them." She pointed to the screen, and there were displayed several faces. She squinted, studying the fine print. During his career with the Thirteenth Directorate, Major Dorian had had four "assistants". The first two, a Lieutenant Norton, and a Sergeant Validus, were deceased. The third, a Lieutenant Tabor, was listed as "whereabouts unknown", the fourth, a Lieutenant Abe, was listed as retired, and was not among the survivors of the Holocaust.

"The first died of natural causes, the second in a hovermobile accident about thirty yahrens ago," said Boomer.

"Sounds like being around this guy was none too healthy," observed Athena. "Two dead, one missing. Doesn't sound like someone I'd want in _my_ barracks."

"Same here." Boomer scrolled a little further. "Okay, now we try and correlate them against who was on the _Galactica _that day. We need their photos, hon."

"No sooner said than done, Boomer," smiled Athena, and returned her attention to the keyboard.

"A continuance?" said Sire Memnon, seated across from Apollo in the small office Solon had provided him for the duration.

"Yes, Sire. I am formally requesting an extension of the time until the Tribunal convenes."

"You must realize, Captain Apollo, that in order for me to permit such a thing, you would have to present compelling evidence to justify this departure from long-established legal procedure." The old man, skin like parchment and obviously frail, leaned across the table, hands folded, and locked gaze with Apollo. "Are you prepared to submit such evidence, Captain?"

"I am, Your Honor," replied Apollo, and began to unfold his material. He went slowly, remembering that this sort of battle wasn't like being in a cockpit, where actions and decisions could mean that lives hung upon the merest of microns. On _this_ battlefield, it was the clash of slow and reasoned arguments, supported with information presented in accordance with strict and narrow rules of engagement. One had to think, to reason with a complexity rarely seen in brute-force military engagements, and from the first few words, Apollo understood that Sire Memnon might be old, but his mind had certainly lost none of the razor-sharp perception that had both outwitted many a political foe, and had made him a legal legend.

"I must protest," said Sire Solon, looking at a hardcopy of Apollo's material. "By your own data, the blood splatter found on Major Dorian's uniform matches the Commander's genetic profile, Captain. And the fingerprint that was found on his ID pad was deemed unidentifiable. Nothing you've shown me in here justifies a call for more time, Captain Apollo."

"But the genetic material found in the epithelial cells in that print was _not _Commander Adama's, Sire Solon," replied Apollo. "And it _overlay_ the Commander's fingerprints."

"Most likely, Major Dorian touched it again before he died, Captain."

"Not at all, Sire."

"Please, Captain," said Memnon, eyes keen as he looked at the Strike Captain, "explain your reasoning."

"Simply this, Sire." For a moment, Apollo felt like he was back at the Academy, taking his first oral examination. He'd sweated like mad then, and was doing so now. He picked up a data chip on the Sire's desk with his right hand. "The thumbprint found on the pad was left by a right thumb. According to records, Major Dorian was _left-_handed." Memnon's eyebrows went up a notch. "Also, the pad was found in his belt pouch, as if he had returned it there. Commander Adama says he tossed it onto Major Dorian as he lay on the deck."

"Well, as the accused, he _would_ naturally say that," offered Solon. "Besides, after so many yahrens…"

"Yes, but, Sire, even if Major Dorian had used his right hand to return the pad to his belt, why would he have held it like this?" Apollo demonstrated, trying to slide the chip into his own belt, with his hand turned round. "It's difficult, so why even try? But, if the pad was put back, by someone holding it _this way,_" and he turned it around, sliding it into his belt, thumb inwards, "then the print would have been Major Dorian's, as would the DNA found in it, sir." He set the chip back on the desk. Sire Memnon looked from the chip, to Apollo, then back to the hardcopy.

"And you believe you can find this person, given more time, Captain?" asked the old jurist.

"I do, Sire. Searching all those records is time-consuming, however, and my co-council is in Life Station at the moment." He explained the attack on Sheba. "So you see, I am convinced, Sire Memnon, that the killer of Major Dorian is both still alive, and still aboard the _Galactica"._

"I see," said the Sire, leaning back and considering. After a few moments: "And there is no sign of her attacker as yet?"

"None, Sire. We found a stolen uniform jacket dumped in a storage closet, and a laser pistol is still missing from the inventory."

"Sire Memnon," began Solon, but the old jurist raised a hand. He continued to think in silence, sparing a glance at the data from time to time.

"Yes?" he said at last, to Solon.

"Sire, we have no proof this attack upon Lieutenant Sheba is in any way related to Captain Apollo's defense of the Commander."

"No other circumstance explains the attack upon her person," interjected Apollo, growing annoyed with Solon, and trying not to show it. "It is pushing the boundaries of belief to suggest it is somehow co-incidental, Sire."

"Perhaps, Captain, but it is a tenuous argument, nonetheless. And there is no precedent for a continuance, based on the genetic evidence. In fact…"

"There I must correct you, Sire Solon," said the older man. "Check your legal history. On Ares, _Hue-Fe vs. Theron,_ one of the most celebrated trials of the year 7289. Indeed, that entire century. A continuance _was_ granted to the defense, over the vociferous objections of a young, somewhat full-of-himself young Assistant Opposer, on his first case, who objected to the admission of the genetic evidence in that trial, also one of willful termination. He was overruled by the Senior Magistrate in that case, Sire Solon." Memnon took a breath, and was quiet for several moments. "As you are, now." He turned to Apollo. "Captain, I am going to grant your request for a continuance in this case, to pursue the evidence as you think best aids your client." Apollo almost visibly slumped, letting out a deep breath. "However," added the other, extending a finger to make a point, "as there is no precedent whatsoever for a continuance longer than an extra forty-eight centars, I shall not deign to create such a precedent. You shall enjoy no greater time here. You have forty-eight extra centars, Captain. Not a single centon more. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sire. Quite."

"Excellent, Captain. "Use them wisely."

"My thanks, Sire Memnon," said Apollo, rising. "I know we can show the Commander's total innocence in this case."

"I trust so, Captain. Given all he has done for our people, it would be indeed tragic to see such a man destroyed."

"Yes, Sire. I agree completely." Apollo gathered up his material, and left the Sire's office.

"Well, Solon," said Memnon, when they were alone, "you disagree? You think I ruled in error?"

"I would not have ruled so," replied Solon, with a long sigh. "I don't think anyone, regardless of their status, should be allowed an exception."

"Not even the Commander?"

"No one is above the law, Sire Memnon,"

"Nor should they be, Solon. But this is a nearly thirty-yahren-old case. The principles are not going anywhere, given our situation. And while I have never met Commander Adama, I realize what a potentially divisive blow to our people's morale his conviction for termination would be." He took a long breath. "I may be old, Solon, but even _I_ have heard tales of what goes on, both in _and_ out of Council meetings. That young serpent Antipas would sell out his own mother to the slavers on Cordugo Pit for the sake of sating his own ambition, and the Commander being destroyed like this would give him, and those who follow him, the very spade they need with which to bury Adama. If at all possible, within the bounds of law, I will do nothing to help bring about what could rip our fragile unity to shreds, Solon."

"I see, Sire Memnon. I understand your reasoning, though…well, I must say I can't find a flaw in it. And while I have a job to do, I will admit that this is one case I would not mind losing."

"You should never say that to the Magistrate," replied Memnon with a barely perceptible smile, shaking a finger admonishingly. "I shall expect you to pursue this case with all the vigor which it calls for, if it comes to Tribunal."

"And I fully intend to, Sire." Solon rose, gathering up his papers. At the door, he turned back. "Sire?"

"Yes?"

"Just who was that 'young, somewhat full-of-himself young Assistant Opposer, on his first case' that you mentioned?"

"Really, Sire Solon," smiled Memnon. "You expect an old man to remember things that far back?"

"Of course," Solon smiled back, and left the room.

**_Chapter Eight_**

Almost as soon as he had left Sire Solon's office, Apollo got a break. Or rather it had seemed so at first. The missing laser had been traced to Flight Sergeant Oswy; his ID number had been used to access the arms locker from which the weapon had been removed. However, it turned out to be a dead end. Not only did a double scan of the logs reveal the time-codes had been tampered with, thus confusing the trail, at the time the laser in question had _actually_ been removed, Oswy had been out on patrol with Greenbean, and had been for over a centar. Nevertheless, Apollo called him down to his office, and checked his weapon, as a matter of routine. The serial numbers weren't even close, and the one Oswy was wearing was in fact the one originally issued to him when he's been accepted by the Service.

"Any idea who might be using your ID number, Flight Sergeant?" asked Apollo, handing the weapon back to the younger pilot.

"None, sir," replied the other, reholstering the laser." As per regs, I've never given my ID number out to _anyone_. Of course, it's in the computer, along with everyone else's, Captain."

"I know. Well, that's all, Flight Sergeant," said Apollo. "Dismissed."

"Sir," saluted the other smartly, and left Apollo's office. Once alone, Apollo leaned back, rubbing his eyes, and went over all the data he had so far. Twice.

_It's in here! I know it is! It has to be! I'm as blind as a newborn daggit! Someone used Oswy's number to steal a weapon, then tried to alter the records. Who in Hades…_

"Captain Apollo," came a voice over his telecom. He answered it so fast he nearly broke it off the mount.

"Yes?"

"Technician Hummer here, sir. Could you come to the lab? I think I may have found something."

"Whaddya got?" asked Apollo, as he turboed into the lab. As usual, the young tech was completely deaf to him, ears plugged with his horrid choice in music, chewing gum. _"HELLO?"_ he yelled at last, gripping the other's shoulder.

"Oh, Captain. Yes. I finally found something on that jacket you brought me. The one Lieutenant Sheba's attacker was wearing when she was assaulted."

"And?" he asked, almost breathless from the tension.

"Okay, I scanned it at first for all of the usual things. Blood, hair, skin, blah blah blah. Zilch on that stuff. Not even a speck from the Lieutenant herself, which was kinda weird. I mean, if this _was_ the attacker's jacket, then he was one lucky son of a…"

"Okay, it didn't have certain things on it," said Apollo, trying to keep both his temper even, and his voice down. "So what in Hades Hole _did _it have, Tech?"

"Well, when it turned up clean for all the stuff that shouldn't have been there, I went looking for what _should _have been there."

"Meaning?" wheezed Apollo, like an annoyed dragon.

"Meaning, I found this." Hummer pressed a key, and something came up on one of his monitors. It was a graphic representation of some kind of molecule. Apollo leaned closer, squinting to read the tiny print next to it.

"You found…"

"Yup. Tylium, Captain. A tiny stain, on the left sleeve. More like a smear, really. The difference, actually, is…"

"A Viper pilot might have tylium on their clothes, Technician. How…"

"You are so right, Captain, so I ran a series of spectral and molecular analyses. _This _tylium is fresh. It comes from the stuff we found and refined back in the Ki system. There were some odd impurities in the ore, that set it apart from what we used to mine back home, or even from the stuff we got from Gamoray. Some traces remain in the refined fuel; we're talking in the PPB range here. In addition, there's too much of it for a random contact any Viper pilot might accidentally get on their uniform."

" 'PPB range'?" he asked, sighing loudly.

"Parts per billion, Captain." Hummer put his thumb and forefinger close together. "Like we're talking _really_ tiny tiny stuff. And, before you start drowning me in flowers and accolades, there is also this." He switched views. This time, the scanner was zooming in on a piece of fabric, the magnification running higher and higher.

"And that is?" asked Apollo, rapping his fingers rhythmically on the counter much too loudly.

"Grease, Captain. In actuality, Type VI Polylubrisol-Beta. Industrial grade lubricant. Manufactured by the Trans-Colonial Chemical Company, and never sold commercially." Apollo opened his mouth, but Hummer was faster. "And I checked. The only use for this particular lubricant aboard the _Galactica_ is on Viper and shuttle landing gear. This is highly toxic crud, Captain. It's used only down in the maintenance bays, where the shuttles and fighters are serviced. In fact, engineering regs specifically _forbid_ bringing it into any other part of the ship."

"Meaning…"

"You got it, Captain. Our perp has been mucking around in the undercarriage of fighters and shuttles. And not too long ago, either, from the state these samples were in."

"But mechanics and service techs don't wear pilot uniforms," said Apollo.

"I can't help that, Captain. I can only go where the evidence takes me. He stole it from one of the pilots, swiped it from the laundry. Whatever. But he had traces of those compounds on his skin or other clothing when he put the jacket on."

"We have over a hundred technical support personnel aboard the _Galactica,_ serving in both the bays _and_ ship's maintenance. Did you find anything we can use for a biological trace?" Apollo asked hopefully.

"Sorry, Captain. Aside from this stuff, the jacket was clean as a whistle. Like I said, this guy was one lucky perp."

"Thanks, Hummer," said Apollo, then he broke into a massive yawn. He looked at his chrono. Lords, had it been _that _long since he'd had any sleep? He yawned again. "Oh, sorry."

"No prob, Captain. Maybe you ought to go hit the hay."

"Hit…what?"

"Oh, right. Colloquial expression from home. Get some sleep."

"Maybe I should, Technician. Okay, you keep at that jacket. You found that stuff," he pointed at the monitors, "maybe you'll find something more personal."

"Lords willin' and the crick don't rise, Captain," replied the other. In a heartbeat, he had the earphones back on, and was bent over the jacket as if it was some ancient Holy Text. Apollo shook his head, and left the younger man to his arcane work. Once out in the corridor, he yawned again. _Damn! _All he needed was to get tired, and maybe miss something. He checked in with his "staff", brought them up to speed, then headed towards his quarters. Maybe a short rest period would help his brain work a bit better.

"Hiya, Dad!" chirped Boxey, as he entered the cramped quarters he shared with the boy. Boxey had been reading, and slid off the old worn sofa, open book falling to the floor, to run and embrace him. "What's going on? I haven't seen you all day."

"Well, I've been busy, Boxey. Lots to do, uh, with this new region of space we're moving through, plus the new Warrior recruits that have to be supervised and all."

"I thought Starbuck was doing that, Dad," replied Boxey.

"_Reeererp!" _said Muffit.

"You stay out of this.'

"_Rrr."_

"Yes, well…"

"Is this because of that old skeleton they found down inside the ship?" asked Boxey bluntly. Something in his tone, and gaze, reminded Apollo of Serina.

_I think he inherited all her journalator genes. Lords, I hope that nothing of Anglin's…_

"Where did you hear about that, Boxey?"

"In instructional period. Several of the kids were talking about it. They said you were down there with Grandpa when it was found."

"Well, uh, yes, Boxey. I was, but you shouldn't be talking to people about that. It's something we're still…looking into. And it has to be kept as quiet as possible."

"Why?"

_Oh yeah. Journalator for sure._

"Well…because some people…might try and use what has been found as a way to hurt other people."

"But how? It's just a bunch of old bones, isn't it?"

_Lords, how do I lie to Boxey? Serina…_

"Yes, but they're the bones of someone who was…important a long time ago. And we have to find out all we can about them and how they got into the void, before we can go around listening to or spreading rumors, Boxey." The boy seemed deflated somewhat, and Apollo felt a stab to the heart. Then, as if in answer to prayer, a sudden thought sparked to life in Apollo's mind. "Boxey," he said, settling them both onto the couch, "remember how your mom used to interview people, and report the latest news, back on Caprica?"

"Yeah. She was the best journalator the Network had," he answered with pride. "She was on the Vidnet the night…the night the Cylons came."

"Right. And you remember how, sometimes she would wait to reveal a story, until she had all the facts correct, and was sure there were no mistakes?"

"Well, kinda. I was little then, but sorta."

"This case is kind of like that, Boxey. Before we can talk about it very much, we have to do like mom did. Investigate. Make sure we have all the facts, and that innocent people won't be hurt by the truth coming out."

"You mean I could hurt Gr…people, if I talk too much?"

"Yes it could hurt people, Boxey."

"Like…like Grandpa?" Boxey looked at him with pained eyes.

"Yes, Boxey. Like Grandpa." Obviously, someone somewhere had a big fat mouth. "So you can't go around talking about it. Not to anyone. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be just like mom, and wait till we get the truth."

"Good kid," said Apollo, feeling enormous relief flood him inside. Once more, he'd managed to leap the hurdle of parenthood without making a complete mess of things. He looked up at the ceiling, and sent Serina a silent _Thank-you!_ "Now, did you eat?"

"Not yet. I was waiting for you."

"Okay, kid. Let's grab a bite." Apollo got up, went to his tiny kitchenette, and made dinner. Then, they both settled onto the sofa, and Apollo picked up Boxey's book. It was _The Book Of The Word_. Well, that boded well, he decided, if the boy was interested in the Faith and beliefs of his people. "Okay, whatcha been reading, eh kid?" He peered closer…

"It was great, Dad. The part where this General, back on Kobol, the one who looks kind of like Starbuck, kills this Prince, so he and the Prince's wife can run off, and…"

"Uhh, Boxey, maybe we…should discuss a few things. You know, a nice long talk?" He set the book discreetly off to one side. Boxey picked it up again.

"You mean like all the parts in there about sex?"

_Oh, Serina….Yeah, a looooong talk._

Within a half centar, both he and Boxey were fast asleep on the sofa.

Until a loud explosion rudely woke them up sometime in the night.

**_Chapter Nine_**

"Captain, you are one lucky fellow," said Cassie, checking Apollo over with her medical scanner. Aside from a few minor abrasions, he was unharmed. Boxey, likewise, was, beyond a slight scratch to one hand, unhurt, although badly shaken up. Apollo looked up, to see Adama heading his way down the corridor, with both Boomer and Athena.

"Father?" he asked, and Boxey, with a cry of "Grandpa!" ran to embrace the Commander.

"Sire Solon granted me a brief release from quarters, Apollo. Extenuating circumstances, though I would have come anyway. What happened?"

"Boxey and I fell asleep on the couch, reading. Then, a few centons ago, something knocked us onto the floor. Hard." Apollo turned as Sergeant Cygnus of the damage control crew came out into the corridor. "Well?"

"No accident, Captain," said Cygnus. "It was a bomb, planted behind the bulkhead in the turboflush. It looks like it was clamped or taped to the water inflow pipe right behind the throne. It wasn't particularly powerful, but the fragments from the ripped bulkhead would have killed anyone in the room at the time. That part of the bulkhead just there is pretty thin." He showed them the damage. The small living room was largely intact, as was the kitchenette and bedroom, but the door to the turboflush was buckled outwards, and the one between the throne and the turbowash was ripped inwards, the room, ankle-deep in water, was largely destroyed.

"My God, Apollo," said Athena, embracing her brother. "You could have been killed."

"She's right, Apollo," said Adama. "This has gone beyond a mere old termination case. First someone tries to kill Sheba, now you and Boxey are almost blown to bits."

"Sheba was right," said Apollo. "We are getting close."

"Yeah, too close," said Boomer, surveying the wreckage. "And that means someone is scared mongless that you're going to find them before they can erase both you, and their trail. Permanently." The Lieutenant turned to his Captain. "Apollo, come one. Sleep in the enlisted barracks tonight."

"Boomer, I…"

"It is so ordered," said Adama, sternly. "Apollo, you'll be surrounded by Warriors. The assassin won't be able to reach you there. Not without exposing himself and risking his own life in the process."

"But father, I can't just…hide. I…"

"Ordered," said Adama again, raising one eyebrow in _that _way.

"Oh gee!" said Boxey with glee. "Can I come too, Dad? Get to sleep with all the pilots?"

"Looks like it," said Apollo, with a long sigh.

"Wow!" said the boy, jumping up and down, seemingly oblivious now to all else.

"Come on, kid," said Athena, taking him by the hand, and leading him away towards the barracks. "We'll get you a billet."

"Tell Starbuck no smoking!" cried Cassie.

"Will Uncle Starbuck be there?" asked Boxey, even more excited. "He and Giles still owe me a whole cubit from last time."

Athena's words of reply were lost down the corridor, as Sire Solon appeared, and was filled in. He nodded sagely, arms crossed.

"The Commander is right, Captain. Whoever this person is, he is scared. And scared criminals do stupid things, as we can see." He gestured towards the obliterated turboflush.

"Obviously he doesn't care about the possibility of killing Boxey," said Adama, clearly angry but controlling it. "Or the fact that removing Apollo in so unsubtil a fashion would only draw _more_ attention."

"Sirs," said Cygnus, emerging from the savaged rooms, "we've pretty well recovered all the pieces we're going to. I'm taking them to the lab right now." Adama opened his mouth, but Cygnus was way ahead. "Consider it a rush job, Commander. In fact, I'll do it myself starting now."

"Thank-you, Sergeant," said Adama.

"Yeah, a 'pretest.' One that'll blow their petty little minds," grumbled Starbuck to himself. He glanced over at the chronometer. Lords, it was 2300! And here he was, stuck in the Strike Captain's office, writing . . . _a lesson plan_. Empty java mugs and training manuals cluttered the Captain's normally tidy desk. He noted a few java stains and wadded up papers that had missed the recycling bin . . . should he straighten it up? _Naw_, he reflected with a smirk. Apollo's office was always so neat that it was hard to believe that he actually _used_ it. So, the messier the better.

The first session with the "rogue cadets" was the next day at 0900, and Starbuck had had every intention of just winging it – until Colonel Tigh had insisted on seeing a course outline, on his desk _and _in detail, by 0800. Originally, he had been assigned to instruct just one new cadet, Pelias, the pain-in-the-astrum-son-of-a-boray . . . uh, son of a Council member. But, after Sheba had been pulled for some other assignment, the details of which he was not privy to (all he knew was that it involved working along side the Good Captain), Starbuck had been given the whole lot of them -- Pelias and three women cadets – to either whip into shape or gather enough concrete evaluation on to toss them out on their astrums. At least, he would have help with this _fun_ task, since Dietra, now Silver Spar's Deputy Squadron leader, had been assigned to assist him.

_Could be worse, Bucko. _You_ could be the one with a busted water line in their quarters! _He chuckled mercilessly, thinking about the latest scuttlebutt to hit the lower decks. Finally, someone _else _could have some bad luck.

Well, he was almost there. This was the last duty assignment in what had been the most mind-numbing sectar of his entire military career. He'd jotted down a schedule for the secton-long training program, including the few specifics that the Colonel had dictated – including a three-day survival simulation (aboard the _Agro Ship One'_s desert environment dome), and now he just needed to tweak a few more details. He chuckled dryly as he scanned the test that he'd already typed up. Oh, yeah, these cadets were going to realize from the first centon just how _pleased_ he was to be stuck with this highly coveted assignment. With that thought in mind, and an evil grin on his lips, the Lieutenant quickly typed the rest of the daily outline into the computer and sent a copy off to Colonel Tigh.

"Done!" he groaned, giving a long, slow exhalation as he leaned back in the chair to stretch the kinks out of his back. _Pop pop pop _went his spine. He glanced again at his chrono. He needed to head back to the billet and get a bit of sleep, but after four cups of java – just the right amount of javeine to inspire him to write the lesson plan from Hades -- he was just too wired. Instead, he stared at the computer screen and shook his head. _Bucko, how do you_ _do it?_ He'd been on report before, and for as long as three sectars, but this one was by far the most frustrating period of restricted duties. And he knew that both Colonel Tigh and Apollo knew that, too. And, yes, well . . .that had been the whole point. But . . . _frack!_ In the past, he would have at least known he deserved every micron of whatever punishment Tigh could dream up. This time . . . this seemed to be one more incident in a recent string of unfortunate events. The infamous "Starbuck Luck." It either worked miraculously in his favor, or totally fracked him.

"Or both," he snorted under his breath. "Let's see . . . " Starbuck lit another fumerello, and then held up a hand to tick off the incidents. Broken arm on the _Spica,_ courtesy of that lunatic Dravius. Nearly strangled to death by "Wilmer the Ursus" while working undercover on the _Rising Star_. Oh, and running into Dravius again – how lucky can one guy be? Then getting put on report for missing a fracking briefing after trying to help Mairwen on the _Sagittarius_. Yeah, I deserved that one, didn't I? But it had ended up being a two-secton assignment on the Orphan Ship. Okay, so _that _had not been that bad . . . but he would have preferred to skip the events that had transpired right before that particular assignment.

_Chameleon_. His feelings on that subject were such a tangled morass that he not only cut off the thought immediately, he bit almost completely through his smoke without realizing it. Yeah, he needed to deal with the situation . . . deal with his…his father. But not now. Not yet. And then there was Sherok. Lords, he would never admit it to anyone, but he still had nightmares about the madman. Coming face to face with a crazed Human, when he was injured and helpless, had been far more . . . _difficult_ to deal with . . . than anything else he'd experienced in all the yahrens of battling the Cylons. Cylons were simple; deranged Human beings were not. If it hadn't been for Copernicus . . .

A faint smile touched Starbuck's lips. The man was a paradox. Outwardly, Copernicus appeared to be incompetent and even mentally deficient, a hopeless oddball. Yet, Starbuck knew, he was actually brilliant, a genius, but one who was forced to live with a neurological disorder that made interacting with people extremely difficult. And Starbuck owed him his life, which was not something that the Lieutenant took at all lightly. Thus, amidst all of the mindbogglingly dull reports and tasks he had been forced to endure over the past sectar, he had spent some of his time "arranging" for a transfer to the _Galactica_ for both Copernicus and his helper, Tarnia. Copernicus, he figured, could work in Wilker's lab, and Tarnia, he discovered with some research, actually had medical training as a counselor. Surely, Dr. Salik could find a position for her among his staff. All that remained were two things: to somehow talk with Copernicus and Tarnia aboard the _Sagittarius_ and to get the Commander's approval.

Starbuck sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The need for sleep was creeping in around the edges. With a long yawn and a stretch, he climbed to his feet, plopped his mangled fumerello butt into a java cup, and headed for the exit to Apollo's office. And as he left, he tossed one more piece of wadded-up paper onto the floor for good measure.

Apollo went to the barracks as directed, after checking into his office ("Starbuck!"), but sleep did not find him. Boxey, after being corrupted a little bit more by some of the pilots, had finally drifted off, three cubits and a quantum in his little hand. As he stretched out on a spare bunk in the dimness, the Captain tried to pull together all the pieces of this dizzy affair. Logically, it had to be someone who had both known Major Dorian, and worked closely enough with him to be able to access his ID pad with ease. The list Athena and Boomer had uncovered was pitifully small, so finding such a person _should _have been a very simple matter.

But no. The only member of that list unaccounted for, a Lieutenant Tabor, had turned out to be _really _unaccounted for. It was as if he had disappeared from the face of the Colonies. After being reassigned away from Major Dorian, the records just stopped. No medical records, no certificate of death, nothing. Athena though, bless her heart, was no more easily put off than was Sheba. Despite the dry well she'd come up with on this man, she knew a trick or two, and had yet to give up. Good old Athena. Never one to give up. Just like Zac. Just like Zac.

_Just like…_

Apollo leapt up, nearly falling out of his bunk after bashing his head on the one above him, and realized he'd actually nodded off for a centar or two. After getting his bearings, he realized he could stand it no longer, and left the barracks, headed for the lab. Instead of Hummer, doubtless asleep at this centar that God had not forsaken, he found Sergeant Cygnus bent over the instruments. Unlike the other man, Cygnus preferred to work in silence, and so the lab was blissfully free of the usual hideous cacophony that resembled a major seismic upheaval somewhere in Hades. All that could be heard was the hum of the equipment, and the soft thrumming of the immobile Cylons in the corner.

"Ah, Captain. I was about to call you, sir. I have something."

"I had no idea you knew all this stuff, Sergeant."

"Part of my training was in forensic explosives, sir. I was the lone survivor of a hold-up at the chemical company defense contractor where I worked. The thieves used explosives to try and cover their tracks. I helped the authorities to reconstruct the devices used, and decided that I had found my niche. I joined the police bomb squad, made it off Leo when everything ended, and here I am."

"I see. And?"

"And, our bomber is one clever fellow, Captain. As you can see, the device was clipped to the water inflow pipe with this." He showed Apollo the spring-loaded clamp, well charred. "That whole area of the ship is a lepon-warren of access tunnels and maintenance hatches."

"So someone would have to know the ship very well to find just the right spot."

"Exactly, Captain. And with all the modifications and changes made in her design since she was built, the _Galactica _varies considerably in a few areas from the original blueprints. Our bomber obviously knows every tiny crawlspace and bulkhead, sir."

"So, how was it detonated?"

"That, if you'll pardon the term sir, is the beauty of it. Look." He motioned Apollo closer, to where the recovered bits of the bomb were laid out. "This circuit? Part of an old-fashioned voice-activated audio circuit. The microphone was pressed up against the pipe that carried the water to refill the flush tank, right near a valve. As soon as the valve clicked, it triggered a microswitch in this circuit," he indicated the area up on a screen "and that sent an electrical charge to the detonator, right here."

"How big?"

"Oh, a piece of solonite no bigger than your little fingernail, Captain. There are a lot of pipes and electrical conduits running through those crawlways, sir. Anything much bigger, and it could have knocked out power and utilities to two decks. Maybe more."

"Well, neither Boxey nor I used the turboflush. What set it off?"

"There you can thank your attending angel, Captain," smiled the other. "You aren't much on plumbing, are you?"

"Not really. Meaning?"

"Meaning, sir, that the backflow valve inside the tank was shot. Leaking slowly." He showed it to Apollo. A rubber ring, it was tattered and cracked. "Once it got low enough, the system would trip, and the tank would refill, just as if it had been flushed."

"Yeah. Boxey said it had been making funny noises lately."

"Well he was right, sir. Obviously, maintenance isn't all it could be. In any case, once the valve on the pipe in the service crawlway tripped, and they are kind of loud, it triggered the detonator, and boom. Anyone inside of that room when the bomb went off…well, we'd still be collecting your remains, sir. With tweezers."

"Remind me to send whoever is slow in Maintenance a Yuleday card," chuckled Apollo. "Anything to help identify our bomber?"

"Not yet. The bomb was attached using both a clamp, and a thin wire. The blast ripped the plastic covering off the clamp, and any prints it may have had, and the wire has nothing. Sorry, sir."

"That's okay, Sergeant. You've found out a lot already. Anything on the explosive? Where he got it?"

"Standard solonite mix from the cluster torpedoes we use for ground assault, sir. Anyone who knows even a little about them could have removed one charge from the warhead. This one was about that size, Captain."

"Okay, Sergeant. Keep on it. Maybe we'll get lucky on finding out who planted the bomb."

"Malek and Cussler are searching the inside of the service crawlway, sir. They're good men. If there's anything to find, they'll find it. We'll let you know at once."

"Thank-you. Good night, Sergeant."

""Good night, Captain."

**_Chapter Ten_**

Sheba was about ready to start climbing the nearest bulkhead. Or the farthest. Or _any _bulkhead for that matter. Not only did she have a deep and long-standing aversion for anything remotely resembling a hospital, but enforced inactivity of _any_ kind, for longer than about, oh, one centon, made her about as sociable as a Boray with a rash. Apollo had stopped by briefly after leaving Wilker's lab, and filled her in on the latest. It seemed that she was right. They _were _getting close, and the killer was frightened. Frightened enough to try and remove Apollo and Boxey in a violently open fashion. She kept going over everything he'd told her, and that which her own researches had uncovered. They were close. She knew it. Athena and Boomer, following her lead, had burrowed deeper, and come up with a list of potentials. It had to be there, she told herself over and over again. The answer was staring them in the face, if only…

She sighed, and rolled over in her bed. She looked at the table besides it, and briefly toyed with picking up one of the old, pre-Holocaust magazines again. One of them, _Classical Stage, _had frequently graced the java table in the living room when she'd been little. Her mother, one of the greatest stars of stage and screen the Colonies had ever produced, had frequently written for it, finally becoming associate editor the last few yahrens before a terrible and incurable illness had so cruelly ravaged and then destroyed her.

_No, _she decided. She'd already read it through, along with the fashion rag, the sectonly news magazine, _Newssecton, _a medical/genetics journal, and even a somewhat worn copy of _Colonial Geographic, _dated the sectar before the Holocaust had stopped the presses forever. How annoying, she told herself, that the best article in it was part one of a two-parter.

She let out a loud blast of air, pounding the mattress in utter frustration. _Damnations of Hades! _She should be out there, with Apollo, finding the Boray-breath who had done all this, and put her in Life Center to boot! Or at the very least flying a patrol! The scum might hang for killing Major Dorian, but she would _personally _see to it that he suffered for _this_!

"Oh why in Hades does all this have to keep happening to _me_?" she asked the ceiling, the tension in her denying her sleep. "If I'm not catching some damn bug, I'm either running into Count Iblis, getting blown up by a missile, plowing into an asteroid, or getting my skull dented! Sheba girl, you've got a serious jinx problem. _Mong! _I'm a Colonial Warrior, and a damn good one, and I can't even protect Boxey! How in God's name…"

Able to stand it no longer, she got up, tossed on her robe, and left her small ward. She went into the Nurse's Station, but Cassie had long ago logged off, and Medtech Tone was on duty. _Yeah, Cassie's off, fast asleep in her own bed. Skull intact. Lucky girl. _She exchanged pleasantries with Tone, as he made adjustments to some of the equipment. Then he picked up a small bowl, his meal from the smell of it, and proceeded to stab the contents with two wooden sticks.

"It's a traditional way of eating, where I'm from, Lieutenant," he told her, seeing her confused look. "We did it this way long before more modern utensil ever came along." He extended the small bowl to her. Peering in, she saw some sort of gooey bits of…something, in a sauce. While it _smelled_ good, she wasn't too sure, and shook her head politely. "Do you need another pain killer, Lieutenant?"

"No, I'm fine," she answered him. "Just so unutterably bored, I may go slightly berserk before much longer."

"I know the feeling, Lieutenant," said Tone, shaking his head. "I can't stand being bedridden for any reason. When I was a boy, I would drive my mother to distraction by never staying in bed when I was sick."

"Ah, a kindred spirit!" chuckled Sheba. "To tell you the truth, I've seen enough of the inside of hospitals to make me seriously consider surrendering to the Cylons at the thought of any more time in one."

"Hopefully, we'll never have to worry about them again," said Tone. "I've certainly had my fill of the disgusting monstrosities." He said it with some heat, and Sheba moved closer.

"Your whole family?"

"Yes, Lieutenant," said the other, finishing and setting his bowl aside, next to the medical textbook he had been reading. "My parents, grandparents, all my cousins and other relatives. And my wife and baby, too." His face grew dark a moment, as old, ugly memories passed over it. "We were a big family, all living in the same house in the same little fishing village on Cancera, on Hama Island, where our ancestors had lived and fished since before the various Colonies even rediscovered each other."

"I take it you didn't like fishing."

"It was okay, the only life we knew, really. I grew up helping my father and older brother, out on the water every day. But I wanted something more. I was always interested in medicine, so, I took a gamble, and tried for a scholarship. By a one-in-a-million chance, I got it, and was accepted to the Cancera University Medical School, the best on the planet, though I still spent all the holidays at home with my family. It was sheer luck I survived, Lieutenant. My shuttle home at the end of term was delayed. Just a couple of centars, but that was enough."

"And they hit your home."

"Yes. Obviously, the spaceport on Hama was a target, small as it was. One of their BaseShips blasted it from orbit. When I finally got there, there was nothing left. Our home, our village, nothing. I'm not sure how I made it to a refugee staging point, but I did. When the call went out after fleeing the Colonies for anyone with medical training, I answered." He turned away, to check the equipment again. "I take it it was similar for you? Everyone?"

"Well, I was aboard the _Pegasus _when the Colonies were destroyed, but my mother had died a few yahrens before that. I was an only child, so it was just my father and I." She thought a moment. "When we saw the transmissions from home, we couldn't believe it. A few…a few lost hope completely. One went insane, another killed himself as I recall." She took a deep breath. "If it weren't for my…the Commander's strength, I would never have made it. None of us would have."

"Same here, Lieutenant. I was there, in the conference room, when Commander Adama told us he was looking for the Thirteenth Tribe. I had felt so…empty. Useless, right after it all. His certainty, his passion, gave me a new hope. Gave us _all _hope that we still had a chance in this…this insane zoo we call the universe."

"I understand. As a matter of fact…"

_Beep_

"Hhmm…" said Tone. "Looks like the computer has found something."

"As long as it isn't me!" smiled Sheba. "I don't want another moment in Life Station."

"No, Lieutenant," smiled Tone, "it's that genetics scan Waheeb was working on earlier." He moved to the computer workstation. "Well, it seems…" He stopped, as the telecom beeped. "Yes, Life Station, Medtech Tone here." Sheba noticed his frown, then look of concern. He tensed, as if preparing himself for action. "I see. Very well, I'm on my way."

"Bad news?"

"Accident, Lieutenant," he replied, grabbing a medical kit, and placing a call. "Seems someone got in the way of a bursting steam line in the ship's laundry, and is pretty badly burned."

"Clear across the ship," she noted.

"Yes. I must go. Doctor Paye and Medtech Cassiopeia will meet me there. Since you are the only patient in here at the moment, I presume I can trust you not to go wandering off this time if I leave you alone?" he asked with a smile.

"Warrior's honor," she replied, holding up a hand. She watched him go, and then seated herself at his small station. _Medtech Sheba, ready for action!_ Remembering herself, she looked at the terminal Tone had been reading from moments ago. It seemed as if the computer had come up with some kind of results on Waheeb's research on the unidentified cells. She sniffed the air, and looked over at the bowl Tone had left.

_Hhmm…smells good. I wonder…_She put her finger in what was left, and brought it to her lips, but it never made the rest of the journey. **Sheba leaned in close to the monitor to read the information…**

"Oh my God!" she breathed, as she **what she saw hit her like a laser blast**. She dropped the bowl, and slapped her forehead, snarling. "Of course! Idiot! Why…" She **stopped, the hair on the back of her neck prickling. The Life Station was silent, unnaturally so. Something was not right; she could **_feel _**it . . . she turned slowly, listening, poised to react. . .**

**Apollo woke again, sleep still elusive. As before, he rolled over all the data he had in his mind, trying to find the truth. He looked at his chrono, for the _n_th time, and found himself counting down the centons until the Tribunal must convene. He was worried, unsure, doubt and outright fear beginning to gnaw at him. He was certain Sire Memnon would allow no more continuances; the man had made that plain. So how…**

**He turned, and noticed Boxey's bunk was empty. He reached out, and sure enough, the boy was gone. A tiny spark of concern began to grow as he got up, and checked the turbo flushes. All of them were empty. No sign of Boxey anywhere in the barracks at all. **

**"Where in Hades…" He went to the telecom. He hated to do it, but with all the recent happenings…**

**"No, Apollo," replied Adama, sleep for him also elusive it seemed. "I have not seen him. Have you called security?"**

**"Not yet."**

**"Well, try Athena, first. Then, if he's not with her…"**

**"Yes, sir."**

**His footsteps seemed unnaturally loud in the empty Life Station. Empty, but only for a few more centons at most, until that Med Tech and the rest figured out it was a phony call. He looked about, seeing the empty admitting station, and smiled. Yes, it had worked to perfection. He moved to the comm terminal, and with a little adroit manipulation, wiped all record of the call from the computer's memory. He smiled mirthlessly, as he slowly drew his weapon, and headed for the inner ward, where he knew Sheba to be. He paused a moment, just outside, as he fitted a flash-suppressor onto the muzzle of his pistol. While there was no one around but himself and his victim to hear it, there was a risk the internal sensors in here might pick it up. No sense having it all go to pieces over so…careless an oversight.**

**The door slid open, and he took in the scene. The medical monitors were doing their thing, the dim lights, and the form in the bed, hair askew over the pillow and covers. Perfect. He raised his pistol, and holding his breath, fired into the form before him. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, his vile task accomplished, he slipped back out, leaving the room in darkness once more.**

**_Chapter Eleven _**

"Mom?" asked Boxey, as he wafted into Life Center, Muffit in tow as usual. He stopped, looked around, and saw no one. That was funny. Usually somebody was there, at the desk by the door. Why wasn't someone there right now? "Mom, are you here?" he called again, and moved towards the inner ward. As he did so, Muffit began growling. "What is it, Muffy?"

"Grrrwrr!"

"I don't," began Boxey, when he bumped into someone around the corner. He looked up to see a man, about Adama's age, perhaps a bit younger, dressed in a maintenance worker's uniform. He had thinning hair, and eyes that made the boy feel uneasy. "Oh. Where's M...uh Lieutenant Sheba?" he asked, as Muffit continued to growl at the man.

"What the…how in…Uh, I wouldn't know, kid," replied the man, one hand mysteriously concealed inside his heavy clothing. "I was just here for a…" He stopped, turning, as the door to Sheba's ward slid open, and she stood there, very much alive, a weapon of her own in hand, a pair of very sharp scissors. For a moment, three faces registered only shock, and there was silence.

"Box…"

"But you…how in Hades…"

"What's going on…"

The moment was broken by the intruder grabbing Boxey up off of his feet in his left arm, and pulling the weapon he had used earlier from the inside of his uniform. He pressed the muzzle against Boxey's head, and took a step back.

"Drop it, Lieutenant. I SAID DROP IT! Or I blow his brains out all over the floor!" Slowly, her eyes burning with rage, she did so. The man kicked it aside, to slide off somewhere across the room. "You are turning out to be one big fat pain in the astrum, lady. How'd you do it?" He motioned with his head towards the ward, the door still open.

"Let me go!" howled Boxey, seemingly oblivious to his peril. He struggled, but his captor pistol-whipped him across the cheek, drawing blood.

"Shut the frack up or I shut you up, kid!" he snarled.

"Let the boy go," said Sheba, furiously trying to come up with a plan.

_Any plan._

"Oh yeah, sure. Let him go, and have no way out. Pull the other one, Lieutenant."

"And just where in Hades do you think you're going, huh? Lieutenant Tabor?" She watched his startled expression. "Oh yes, I know who you are. Or _were_. A long time ago, when you were assigned to Major Dorian by the Thirteenth Directorate." She stopped, taking as big a breath as she dared. "Why did you kill him?"

"Smart, aren't you, lady? Way too smart for your own good. You just had to keep sticking your nose into things after they found those damned bones! You just couldn't keep out of it!" He was shouting now. "I'd almost begun to forget! I'd almost…Why couldn't you and that hot shot fiancé of yours just let sleeping daggits lie?"

"You know why. Commander Adama…"

"The Commander. He…"

But Tabor never got to finish his sentence. Boxey, small but full of fury, gathered up all his anger in one powerful kick with his right leg. Backwards. Right where it counts the most. Tabor bellowed in pain, and his grip loosened, which saved Boxey's head as the laser went off at that moment, blowing one of the monitor's to Kingdom Come. Sheba recoiled…

But Muffit did not. Knowing only that Boxey was in trouble, his data banks gave him but a single option. Remembering what he'd done to a Cylon on Carillon, the daggit opened his mouth, and bit down as hard as his servos would permit on Tabor's right ankle. The killer yelped in pain, dropping the boy. He turned and shot Muffit point blank.

Which was to prove a bad idea, in the end. Filled with rage at this savaging of his beloved daggit, Boxey attacked the other with both fists, plowing into him with surprising force. Tabor was forced back against a table, but he managed to get hold of the boy by his hair. Shaking him violently, Tabor kept Sheba at bay with the laser, kicking Boxey to regain control. The boy stopped, and Tabor growled through gritted teeth: "Hold still, you fracking brat, or I'll blow the Lieutenant here to Hades right here and now. GOT ME?" He glared into Boxey's eyes, then made him look at the weapon, pointed at her. "Got me? Give me any more trouble you little piece of mong, and I will burn her down right now, and then you. Understand?" No answer. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"Yes," replied Boxey, barely audibly.

"Good," smirked Tabor, then turned back to Sheba. "Like I said, I'm out of here, and this little twerp is my ticket off the _Galactica._"

"To where?" said Sheba, almost laughing. "Another ship? Where in Hades do you think you are going to go, Tabor? We're in the middle of nowhere!"

"There are habitable systems within shuttling range of the Fleet, Lieutenant. Even down in maintenance we know a lot of what goes on, up on the bridge. That's where we are going. And you are going to fly me there."

"Are you…"

"Kidding? Not at all, Lieutenant. With you as my pilot, no one will dare shoot me down. And with this one," he shook Boxey again, "you will do whatever I tell you once we launch. Then, once we're down, he's all yours."

"You'll never make it, Tabor. Get real! This will never work."

"Well, you had better _hope_ it does, Lieutenant. Remember, the Council re-instated the death penalty. I have nothing more to lose, by killing either or both of you."

"Alright," said Sheba, slowly, still trying to figure out what to do. "I'll do it. But if you hurt Boxey again…"

"You'll what, huh?" He fired another shot, narrowly missing her feet. "Throw your hair pins at me?"

"You Boray's astrum," she seethed. "I…"

"NOW!" he growled, pistol against Boxey's head once more.

"Alright. Boxey…" she began, when the door swished open, right behind Tabor. He half-turned, to see Boomer and Athena coming through. He turned, trying to level his weapon at them, but Boxey acted quickly. Twisting his body, he brought his teeth down on Tabor's wrist, and with a growl of pain, the killer let him drop. Both Warriors, taking the scene in quickly, moved to try and surround Tabor, who, back to a wall, still held his weapon.

"You can't get away, buster," said Boomer, seriously wishing he'd brought his own pistol with him. "You're trapped."

"Maybe, maybe not, but I'm sure gonna try, hot-shot," snarled Tabor. "I'm the only one in here with a gun. And if you try and rush me, somebody's dead." He made an adjustment to the laser, and grinned. He noticed Athena looking at him, and glared back. "What are you looking at, huh?"

"You. You did a good job, changing your face and appearance."

"Didn't he though," said Sheba, slowly microning her way along the counter. About an arm's length to her right was an intercom switch. If she could just reach it…

"That's it!" said Tabor. "Now, gimme the kid, or I swear I'll…"

As if to cause yet more confusion, the doors whooshed open once more, and Medtech Tone rushed through, Apollo on his six. "Lords of Kobol!" said Tone, "when I catch whoever called in…a false…"

But he got no further. Panicking, Tabor fired at the Medtech, who along with Apollo, toppled right into Boomer. In that moment's confusion, he once more grabbed up Boxey, and then fired again towards the door. He missed a frantically ducking Athena by a hair, and was out into the corridor, trampling Apollo, Boxey a hostage.

And almost at once, the ship's klaxon began to blare. Sheba hit the intercom, and called Security. Within a centon, the entire ship was on the alert for Tabor and his hostage.

But Tabor, given his position and many yahrens of work and experience aboard this ship, knew nooks and crannies unknown to most others. Once those inside Life Station moved out into the corridor, the malefactor was nowhere to be seen.

"Frack my arm!" said Apollo, as Salik scanned it. It was broken by Tabor's boot, but aside from still-scrambled senses, he was alright. Medtech Tone was unconscious. Fortunately, Tabor had reset the weapon for a wide-field shot, and the bulk of the laser bolt had hit the edge of the medkit Tone had been carrying, dissipating a lot of the energy from what had been a "kill" setting. Still, he was in a bad way, and Salik was keeping his fingers crossed. Likewise, Athena's near-miss had put her in a bio-bed too. "I've got to go after him."

"Captain, you're still groggy from a near-miss, the pain-killers are kicking in…you are in no shape to go chasing an armed man through the ship."

"Damn it, Doc!" shouted Apollo. "I swore to Serina I'd look out for Boxey! I have to do this!" And without another word, he slid off the table and out the door, deaf to all, including the Commander. Adama moved to follow him, then turned back to the doctor. But his words died aborning, as he noticed something.

"Where is Sheba?"

Boxey had never been in or even heard about _these _parts of the _Galactica. _After fleeing Life Station, Tabor had cut a sharp right down the corridor, and then opened a storage closet, where cleaning supplies were kept. Behind a rack of towels, virtually invisible, there was a metal ladder bolted to the bulkhead. He ordered Boxey to climb, following him with the weapon still threateningly pointed at him. Once up, Tabor closed and sealed a hatch, then moved his hostage along a low, cramped service crawlway, lined with cables and pipes and other things Boxey didn't recognize. From there, it was more hatches, more crawlways, until Boxey was utterly lost. Then, Tabor stopped, hand over Boxey's mouth. Right in front of them was a heavy grill, opening onto the corridor below.

"Make a sound, and I'll burn you right here and now," whispered Tabor. Fearful, Boxey nonetheless was able to look down. In the corridor, he could see black-shirted Security men, no doubt looking for them. One was talking, and he recognized the voice as that of Reese.

"One, this is Four. No sign of them on Deck Three. Moving on to the next area."

"Roger, Four."

After a few moments, Reese and the others moved on, and Tabor continued his journey through the guts of the ship.

"Where are we going?" Boxey was able to get out at last.

"To get off this ship, kid," answered Tabor. "And you are my insurance policy. They won't dare try and stop me with the Commander's grandson under the gun."

"You killed Muffit!" cried Boxey, barely keeping the anger inside. "You shot my daggit!"

"Big deal! One thing you learn in life, kid." Tabor turned to look down at him. "Always look out for Number One. Nobody else will."

"They won't let you get away!" hissed Boxey, determined not to cry. "My dad and the rest won't let you get away. Ever."

"If it's a choice between my freedom, or your shattered skull on the deck, they'll let me go. Bet on it kid."

He pulled, carrying Boxey even further along the labyrinth of passageways, until they came to another hatch. Passing through, Boxey found himself in a far roomier corridor, painted a gleaming white, brightly lit, with one wall covered in hatches fitted with small portholes. Boxey at once recognized them, from the required safety drills. The escape pods. They were one deck above the landing bay.

"These won't go very far," said Boxey, who in fact knew well from his lesson that they could go quite a ways.

"Don't try and bovinemong a bovinemonger, kid. I know these pods inside and out. Once we're off this ship, I can get us to one of the habitable planets nearby. With you aboard, they won't dare harm me."

"But I don't want to go to some planet. I…"

"Tough felcercarb, kid. You're coming." Tabor turned to the nearest pod, and activated the power unit. Obediently, it lit up, inside and out. But, when he pressed the hatch control…"What the Hades…? Come on, you piece of mong! Open!"

But the hatch would not open. Not that one, nor the one next to it, nor, in fact, any of them. A quick check told Tabor why. All of the pods had been remotely locked out! None of them would do a thing now, without an override code. A code which he did not have.

"Sir, all the escape pods just went off-line," said Wu, on the bridge. "Completely locked out."

"What?" said Tigh, clearly surprised at this news. "How? Is it a systems malfunction?"

"No, sir," replied the Petty Officer, after a check. "Someone has entered a command-level override code into the system, sir. I can't re-activate them without a corresponding code."

"A command-level code?" said Tigh. "The only person aboard…Get me Commander Adama, at once," he said to Geta, the night-shift comm officer.

"Yes, sir," replied the female Nomen.

"Sir," said Wu, looking up from his instruments once more, "It wasn't Commander Adama's code, sir!" Tigh's brow's furrowed. "It's Commander Cain's!"

**_Chapter Twelve_**

Sheba pumped along the corridor, both her blood, and her head, pounding. She kept telling herself it was with fury, and not pain, but part of her was beyond pain, now. So full of wrath was she now that anyone seeing her face at this moment could be forgiven for believing they were looking upon the face of Commander Cain in his youth, or even one of the ancient warrior angles in the _Book Of The Word. _

She came to the hatchway, and thumbed the door. It opened, the lift taking her down. As she waited for it to deposit her, she tried to review all the information screaming through her head. Obviously, from their rudely interrupted conversation in Life Station, Athena had come to the same conclusions about their quarry as she had. Yeah, she'd always known Apollo's sister was smart. Too smart to be wasted on just bridge duty. What that girl needed was to grab…

The lift stopped, and the door _swooshed_ open. As she expected, it was dimly lit in here, and there was no one else about at this centar, with all the shuttles nicely tucked away for the night. She stepped through the door, and allowed her eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom. She took a deep breath, and let her senses spread out, working to both calm her fury, and to "feel" the area around her.

_He's here! I know it! He has nowhere else left to go, now. I…_

She stopped, as she heard a distant sound over the ubiquitous rumble of the engines. A hatch being opened, somewhere above her. She smiled. He may know more ways around a Battlestar than most people, but the daughter of Cain sure as Hades Hole knew her prey. He was not only coming through the hatch, he was coming to _her._ She ran a hand through her hair.

_You'll pay for this, too! _she swore, and slipped in to shadows.

"You can't get away!" said a voice. Young. Boxey's. "You…"

"I told you to shut the frack up, kid!" shot back his abductor, slapping the boy once more with his weapon. "You give me any more trouble, and I'll fry your eyes out. Got me?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tabor moved along the upper gantry that held the huge crane that lifted the shuttles from their berths, and set them on the slip down to the launch bay. The felinwalk came to an end, and he shoved Boxey ahead, to move down the ladder to the shuttle deck.

"I said no!" shouted Boxey, once more defying his captor. "I'm not going with you, you golmonging snitrad!"

"Look, you puke," said Tabor, gripping Boxey cruelly by the throat and pressing his face against the steel bulkhead, "some people take certain things for granted in life. Like the ability to chew solid food!" he smacked Boxey's head against the bulkhead again. "Do you get my meaning, kid?" Squirming, Boxey kicked back at him. "Apparently not. Okay, have it your own way, kid. I guess you'll go stunned, just as well as not." He looked down to reset his weapon, when suddenly, the lights went up. Tabor grunted as the brightness stunned his eyes, and he lost his grip on Boxey.

"_BOXEY! RUN!"_

Not waiting for any further encouragement, Boxey obeyed, but not without a parting token of his regard for Tabor. He kicked the other in one leg, and Tabor fell backwards, grabbing the railing next to him to stop his fall. With a snarl, he righted himself, and fired after him. He missed, his shot pinging off a bulkhead. He let loose a torrent of curses, then looked around him.

"You've had it, Tabor," said Sheba, her voice echoing over the hangar PA. "You've lost your hostage, and the launch bays are locked down. You are going nowhere."

"You frackin…" He broke off, firing at one of the speakers. It died spectacularly, but the voice did not go away. "I will get off this ship, you bitch! You hear me? I will, or I'll take you with me!" He moved quickly along the gantry, following Boxey, hoping to find and recapture the boy. As he did so, he shot out another speaker. "Shut up! Shut up!"

"No way, Tabor. You've come to the end of the line," Sheba went on, taunting him with her tone. "You're a murderer, and you're going to pay the penalty. Murder, kidnapping, attempted murder. You are dead, Tabor."

"Why couldn't you just leave those damned bones alone?" shouted Tabor angrily. "It was all so long ago. Who gives a frack about Dorian? He was fracking murderer himself, the little thief! The whole universe is better off without him!"

"Not your decision to make, Tabor. Not your decision." As she spoke, Sheba was lowly creeping along, moving closer to her prey as stealthily as she might. If she could just keep the miscreant talking… "So, why _did _you kill him, Tabor? He was a beaten, unconscious man, yet you gunned him down like a dying daggit in the road. Even Ortega got a better deal than that. Why?"

"A rabid daggit! Hades Hole, he deserved it, the filthy little crawlon!" shouted Tabor. "Destroying other people's lives wasn't enough for him, corrupt or not. No, he had to ruin mine. My whole world! I decided to stop him, there and then. I had no idea the Commander had…"

_Clang!_

Sheba swore, as she knocked something off onto the deck below in her intense focus on Tabor. He turned, and fired. The gantry over her head erupted into sparks, Tabor's shot barely missing her head. Her nostrils filled with the reek of singed hair. Obviously, he had set the weapon back to "kill".

_Keep your head girl! Otherwise, you stand to lose it!_

She fired back, sending up a cloud of smoke and sparks in her own right. She heard Tabor grunt, and the scuffle of fleeing feet. _Frack!_ Swallowing her torrent of colorful curses, she went after him.

"Sir," said Wu, on the bridge. "I have located the lock-out point."

"Yes?" asked Adama, now on the bridge.

"It was from one of the terminals in the computer center. According to the logs, Lieutenant Sheba logged on in there a few centons ago, then entered Commander Cain's override code, then locked out all the escape pods."

"Locked out…of course!" said Adama, looking at Tigh. From his eyes, Adama could see that his Exec had reached the same conclusion. "She's herding him where she wants him to go."

"The shuttle bay," said Tigh.

"Exactly. She knew he'd try for an escape pod, after we heard what he'd said in Life Center, and with Boxey as a hostage…Wu, anything else?"

"No, sir, except for the port side shuttle bay. Power is up, but computer indicates that the internal sensors are off-line."

"Commander Cain's code?"

"No, sir. Just cut off at the source."

"Reactivate them from here. Colonel, get Apollo and Croft's team, and meet me at the hatch to the shuttle bay."

"Sir!"

Tabor ducked, just in time to avoid being hit by a shot from Sheba. He stumbled, almost dropping his weapon. Breathing hard, he stopped for a moment, and looked around. As the smoke cleared, he had a clearer vision of the bay below him. There were the shuttles, including that alien one they'd flown up from Ki. Yeah, that one was closest to the ramp. He'd take that one, since it had no transponder in it. No sense saddling the Fleet with some old clunker like that. He…

He heard a sound, and turned as fast as he could. He raised his weapon and fired directly towards Sheba. There was a loud burst of sparks, and he heard her cry out. He fired again and again into the smoke, ducking to miss a shot in return, determined to make sure. He smiled, as he both heard and saw her pistol fall to the deck below them. He slowly raised up, and turned…

To face Boxey, metal rod in hand, barring his path. Before he could even draw breath to laugh, Boxey swung, cracking the fugitive across one knee. He staggered, pain ripping up his leg, and Boxey swung once more, the pipe's end ripping the fabric of his pant leg, and drawing blood.

"You fracking bastard!" snarled Tabor through the pain. "You are dead, you frackhead brat! Dead!"

"You hurt my mom and dad! You killed Muffit!" screamed the boy. "I'm going to get you!" Boxey swung again, once more striking the partly fallen Tabor. He raised again…

And Tabor fired directly at him. The bolt struck the pipe, knocking Boxey off his precarious balance. With a cry, he dropped it and fell off the gantry into the bay below.

Tabor tried to stand, and almost screamed from the damage Boxey had done to his knee. The fracking little piece of Boray mong! Felt like it was broken, and…

"Okay, big man!" said a voice, and he turned as best his savaged knee would permit. "Time to pick on someone your own size." It was Sheba, robe torn, armed similarly to Boxey, standing not an arm's length from him, face like the Wrath of Heaven. As he took it in, a thrill of real fear coursed through him. She swung before he could bring his laser to bare, and missed. He fired, the shot going wild, over her head. She did not even blink as she swung again, this time striking his weapon's hand with a loud pulpy _crack_, sending his laser skittering across the walkway, dropping to the bay below. He howled in pain, and she laughed through gritted teeth, her backswing catching him under the jaw. "If he's dead, I'll personally rip your jewels out, Tabor!" she hissed, and attacked again. "Hades, I just may anyway."

But Tabor was not entirely out, yet. He slid back along the gantry, and grabbed up the pipe Boxey had used in his left hand. He blocked a blow from Sheba, then swung down. Barely missing her head, he struck her shoulder a glancing blow. But Sheba seemed oblivious to the injury. Her eyes ablaze like her Viper's guns, she attacked again, driving the man back. Farther, farther, till he was able to get a blow in, She ducked, then slipped. He struck a blow, smacking hard against her ribcage, then she twisted her whole body, just as the next fell, and his bludgeon cracked into the bulkhead to her left…

And ruptured a line full of some kind of liquid. It sprayed all over him with great force, and he bellowed as his eyes were stung by the foul gunk. Sheba stepped back, as he swung again, blindly, his weapon drawing a spark from the metal wall.

"Boxey!" cried a voice, Apollo's, as the hatchway slid open, and Croft's Security team poured in, followed by Adama and the rest. "Boxey? Can you hear me?"

"Boxey, answer me!" shouted Adama. "_BOXEY?"_

"There she is, sir!" It was Croft, pointing up at the two combatants. "Lieutenant Sheba? Lieutenant, duck now!" He raised his rifle, and fired at Tabor. He missed, but his salvo ignited whatever it was spewing all over the man.

With a truly hellish scream of agony, Tabor lit up like an exploding Raider, swirling around madly in a futile attempt to escape the flames that were chewing into his clothes and flesh. He dropped the bar, and with what thought remained to him, grabbed Sheba with what was truly a death grip. She felt the flames bite into her clothing and skin, her hair begin to smoke, and she fell backwards, Tabor over her. Almost at once, the boraton mist nozzles opened up, spraying them both.

"Take…you with me!" he croaked, but Sheba refused to give up. Drawing her legs up against her chest, she kicked the Human torch, desperate to get free.

"I..." _thwack _"have had…" _crunch _"enough…" _kick _"of you!" she screamed, and landed one last hard kick to Tabor's face. With a shriek that pierced all that heard it to the soul, he toppled over the railing, crashing on to the deck below.

**_Chapter Thirteen_**

"Doc?" asked Apollo, standing over Boxey's biobed in Life Station. His eyes were big, and pleading as his glance flitted back and forth between his son and Dr Salik.

"He'll be okay, son," replied the _Galactica'_s CMO, hand on Apollo's shoulder. "When he fell off that gantry, he landed on top of the scaffolding erected over that alien shuttle Starbuck flew back from that planet. It not only made his fall shorter, but for some reason it had matting all over it. Cushioned his fall enough to save him. He'll be up and around in a day or so, although he'll feel like the underside of an avalanche. But don't worry, Captain. They heal fast at that age."

"Oh God…thank…" Apollo tried to get out, but couldn't finish.

"Hey, don't forget me, Buddy," said Starbuck, as usual irreverent. As part of his many and exciting new duties, Starbuck had had to supervise and evaluate a trainee maintenance crew, working in the hangar. Chosen since it was he who had flown the shuttle up from Ki, he had soundly chided them all for not covering the scaffolding and top of the ship with anti-fire matting, as per regs, before beginning modifications. Thick, spongy, and resistant to high temperatures, Boxey had landed right smack on top of it.

"Thanks, Starbuck," said Apollo, oblivious to the tear in one eye. He would have to remember to thank Starbuck in some meaningful way.

"Hey, any time, Apollo," said Starbuck, more seriously.

"Doctor?" asked Adama, standing over another biobed. Salik moved over, to check the readouts. He looked up from the patient, to the Commander, and shook his head. "How long?"

"A few centons," replied the doctor uncertainly. He could give them an educated guess, but that was it really. "A centar at the most, Commander. The injuries are far, far too extensive. That and the toxicity from that waste line, plus the boraton. I'm surprised he isn't dead already."

"I see." Adama looked back down, at the burned and dying form of Tabor, now openly identified as "Chief Technical Sergeant Decker", who had served aboard the _Galactica_ in the hangar/maintenance area for longer than anyone else. His service history, it turned out, had begun bare sectars after the death of Major Dorian, and the "disappearance" of Lt. Tabor.

Now, he was a burned, shattered, dying wreck of a man, trying to look up at Adama with his one remaining eye peering through the bandages covering his horribly charred face. His breathing was slow and labored, and the Commander could see a slight movement from his burned, blistered lips. For a long moment, he just looked at the Commander, and Adama looked back. For his part, Adama was torn between fury at what had been done to his family, and pity for the broken piece of Humanity in front of him. Then, the ruined lips opened, and he took a wheezing breath.

"Commander," he rasped, at last finding the strength, or the will, to speak. "They were right…your son. Lieutenant Sheba. I did kill Major Dorian."

"Sire Solon," called Adama, and the Chief Opposer was suddenly at his side, Sire Memnon with them, recorders on. "Go on." But Tabor did not at once reply, his strength seemingly gone. Then, he opened his eye again.

"I had served with him for several yahrens, as part of the Thirteenth Directorate. But I hated him. I hated him enough to…" He broke off, coughing sharply. For a moment, Adama thought they were losing him, but no, the fit passed, and he seemed to settle down. "He was a snake, and I kept looking for an opportunity…to kill him."

"Why?" asked Solon.

"He…and my wife. He…bastard! I found them together. He just laughed at me. I tried to…get away. But he wouldn't let me go."

"Why not?" asked Memnon.

"I…I was the best cryptanalyst and electronics expert… he'd ever worked with. He would have been a mediocre nothing without me, and he knew it. He…forced me to stay with him."

"How did he force you?" asked Apollo.

"He set me up…for a crime I didn't commit. Termination. Held it over me. For yahrens. Forced me to…to work for him. I wasn't fit for regular duty. I'd…been turned down by the service because of my illness."

"Yes, your albinism," said the Captain, clarifying the statement.

"But I don't recall ever seeing anyone like that with Dorian," said Adama. "Ever."

"I…I wore contacts, Commander. And I had my skin artificially darkened…looked like anyone else."

"It was that which made you unfit for regular duties?" said Colonel Tigh, quietly standing at Adama's side.

"Yes," replied Tabor, bitterly. "Then, I had a chance." Tabor stopped again, grimacing as he tried to garner his strength and work through his pain. The attending tech quickly medicated him and slowly, he resumed. "The day he came aboard, to go after your father, Commander…"

"Did he really have anything against my father?" asked Adama, voice tense.

"He said so, sir," rasped Tabor. "Something about… a cheating scandal at the Academy, when your father was a cadet. But it was false. I…I checked the file…behind his back. It was all lies! Lies…a scheme to get to you, Commander." Tabor stopped, breathing hard. "He never forgave you…for…your wife…"

"Gentleman," began Salik, but Tabor spoke.

"Please. I…have to." He took another ragged breath, then resumed. "My…my wife…we separated, and she and Dorian…but he threw her out. Tossed her over as if she was…was trash. She couldn't take it, Commander. She…killed herself. I decided that I had to get…away." He was quiet again as his breathing and talking both became more difficult due to his inhalation burns. "I saw you and he… leave…leave the Officer's Club, sir. After a few more rounds of…of liquid courage, I went after him. Someone said they had seen him heading for the orlop, so I went down there. As soon as the lift opened, I saw him, lying there, looking like someone had beaten the frack out of him." His lips cracked as a faint smile appeared at the memory. More wheezing and gasping followed. "I never knew it was you, sir, until he was found. Suddenly…it all clicked. I…saw what I thought was his laser… laying next to a stack of machinery. I picked it up, and just as I aimed it at him, he opened his eyes." Tabor tried to laugh: "He started to beg, the filthy, groveling coward. It was music to my ears, hearing him beg for his life… just like…just like all the others he'd ruined or destroyed. I laughed in his face, and then I shot him. Then, I heard the lift again, so I put the laser and the rest… of his stuff back in his belt, and stuffed him in the open section of the void. I ran for the opposite lift, and got out of there."

"How did you escape the Cylon raid?" asked Adama, aware that the health team were watching him and the bio-monitor carefully. There wasn't much time left.

"Pure…pure luck, sir. I missed the shuttle by a couple of centons. I hid aboard one of the other shuttles, and after the engagement…with the Cylons, I got off the ship by putting on a cargo handler's uniform, and disappeared once we'd landed. In all the confusion, it was easy. First…chance I had, I hacked the computer records… made it look as if he'd left the _Galactica _on the destroyed shuttle. Then…then I erased all traces of myself that I could find, and sealed his records with a phony… Presidential order."

"No one ever did that before," said Apollo.

"No one was looking. Or cared. A lot of folks…weren't unhappy to see the Major gone. I…created a new identity for myself. I had plastic surgery, had my fingerprints altered, and underwent the new…new genetic therapy to cure my albinism and colorblindness. It was…still illegal then, but I was desperate. Then I…I forged a whole history for "Decker", and got into the service. Pure dumb luck…that I was assigned to the _Galactica. _All these yahrens…knowing that he was down there. You have… no idea. Dreams. Haunting me…" Tabor stopped for a moment, and only the blinking monitors showed that he yet lived. "I tried to forget…sir. I was serving my people…and doing what I loved most. Tech…machinery…keeping the boys flying, when I could never fly." He once more erupted into hacking, this time blood spattering his lips. Clearly, the end was near.

"Gentlemen, please…" said Salik, all Doctor, as he advocated for his patient.

"And when they were found?" asked Solon, all Opposer, as he pressed Tabor for every detail.

Tabor feebly held up a bandaged hand to Salik to stay his protests. He clearly wanted to come clean before it was too late. "I panicked…Sire. I'd almost…begun to forget, after all these yahrens. Finally, to forget." He looked from Solon, to Sheba, herself a mess but in decidedly better shape than he was. "I…please, forgive me, Lieutenant. I…panicked when I heard, and I hacked the system and discovered…what you were learning, I could only think of silencing you."

Sheba considered his plea for forgiveness. It was just too soon after too much. "Your knowledge of all the _Galactica'_s internal crawlways. That's why we could never find how you escaped," she said.

"Yes," he nodded, barely audible. "I've…spent more time in them than any…of the rest…"

"And my quarters?" asked Apollo. Though he realized that the man was near his end, he still had to know.

"I…helped redesign that area, when it was refitted a few yahrens ago, Captain. I know it…better than anyone. I'm…please forgive me. I…" He rasped again, then looked at Adama. "Forgive me, sir. I never meant…to harm you. …How could I? You…saved us…our people…never even knew it was you who'd…beaten Dorian. Beaten him…needed beating…needed it…needed…couldn't bring myself…forgive him…forgive…forgive? Sorry…about the daggit…" Tabor was clearly raving now, mind going, yet as he looked up at Adama, even in the one bloodshot eye visible to him, the Commander felt sure he could see yahrens of hatred, guilt and fear sloughing away. Tabor tried to lift his head, looking from side to side. "Is the boy alright?" Then, he began to hack violently once more, his whole body convulsing.

"I…" began Adama, but the monitor suddenly went flatline. He looked back down at Tabor, but Tabor was now still, his last breath sighing away, eye staring sightlessly back at him. Adama felt his tensed muscles relax, and exhaled.

"Captain Apollo," said Sire Memnon, in a brisk, dispassionate tone, "the bench will entertain a motion for dismissal at this time."

"The Protection so moves, Sire." Apollo spoke after a moment's pause as he looked down at the man who had almost destroyed his father and his family.

"Sire Solon?"

"The Opposition has no protests, Sire," replied Solon quietly.

"It is so recorded. Commander Adama, in accordance with the evidence presented here, I hereby declare that all charges and specifications against you in this matter are dismissed. You are free to go."

"Thank you," replied Adama, looking from Memnon, to his son. Slowly, his arm went around Apollo.

"Unless there are any further motions, I declare these proceedings closed," finished Memnon.

"As do I," said Doctor Salik, drawing a sheet up over Tabor's face. "Alright Cassie," he said. "Let's call it. Time of death, 0400 centars."

**_Chapter Fourteen_**

"There he is!" said Apollo, as Boxey entered the Commander's quarters two days later, accompanied by Cassiopeia on one arm. The boy looked decidedly odd, walking with a cane tailored to his height, but at least he was up and on the mend. Athena was with him as well, along with…

"Well, if it isn't Muffit!" said Adama. The daggit had been disabled when Tabor's shot blew out the main rectifier in the daggit's power system. Fifteen or so centons on Wilker's bench, and the daggit was on his feet, and like new. Boxey reached the table first, and in a move of old-fashioned courtly manners, pulled out a chair for his Aunt Athena, between Adama and Boomer. He looked up, smiling with adoration, as he settled in himself next to Sheba.

When he'd first seen her in Life Station, Starbuck had seriously risked finding himself stuffed, astrum first, into a Viper thruster, for cracking a joke about her bedraggled appearance following her struggle. Outside of a few fading bumps and bruises from her tussle with Tabor, Sheba now looked decidedly better, and, in Apollo's opinion, deliciously radiant in the shimmering light blue gown that she had donned for the occasion. He gave his fiancée an appreciative smile before slipping into the seat on the other side of her.

For a moment, the Captain gazed around the table at his family and friends: Starbuck and Cassie, Boomer and Athena, Sheba, Boxey, and his father. "Thank the Lords this is all over!" he said with a sigh, his right arm still wrapped in a regen sleeve. Tabor's trampling had fractured the bones in many places, along with numerous nerves and tendons, and even with the bone welder, it would take a few days until everything was back to normal. "Sire Solon says that since a dying man's confession is considered evidence, that's it."

"Here, here!" said Adama, raising his glass. As a special indulgence, Boxey was permitted a small amount of ambrosia, poured by his grandfather. The Proteus Stash, of course. "I'm just glad to have all of you alive, well, and this whole ugly thing out of the way."

"Which it wouldn't be, if it weren't for Sheba," said Apollo. "She's the one who finally put the whole confounded thing together. Not me."

"Yeah, at the very last centon. If I'd been a bit faster…"

"Hey, don't slam yourself," said Boomer, shaking his head. "It went right over my head. I mean I never even thought of the gene therapy angle, Sheba."

"Fortunately, neither did Lieutenant Tabor," said Athena. "He never knew that his old genetic profile, as well as the altered one, had been catalogued by the doctor who did the therapy."

"But he said it was illegal," said Starbuck.

"It _was_ at that time, but it became legal shortly thereafter when it was finally adjudged safe for Humans, and the doctor who did it probably didn't want to be hauled up on charges, so he fudged the date on his records, instead of wiping them. Tabor never knew."

"And so when Med Tech Tone's genetic search finally paid off…" said Boomer.

"Exactly," said Athena. "Boomer and I had arranged to have whatever results he got sent to our terminal, whatever the centar. As soon as it bleeped in Life Station, we got it too."

"Okay," said Starbuck, "I realize I'm not the brightest emitter in the laser battery, so bare with me. How did the genetic scan expose Tabor exactly?"

"Okay," said Sheba, swallowing quickly. "Tone and Waheeb explained it to me. Each of us receives our genetic makeup at conception. Normally, it's fixed for life. Now, the defects in Tabor's DNA showed up in a standard scan, just like anyone else's would. But, after the genetic replacement therapy to cure his albinism and colorblindness, those genes would read as different."

"Uhhh, yeah," said Starbuck. He pulled a fumerello from his inside pocket, but at a glare from Cassie, put it back. "So, they were different. I still…"

"Well, at first, all we were looking for were those _specific _nucleotide sequences, Starbuck. Naturally, after alteration, they were nowhere to be found. But Waheeb widened the search parameters. Even with those genes altered, the rest of Tabor's DNA would be the same as it was from his conception. Height, blood type, gender, and so forth. Including his mitochondrial DNA, which exists outside the cell nucleus. Tabor's was almost unique. Once that happened, it was only matter of time, and up it popped."

"Telling you that Decker was really Tabor," finished Starbuck. "I see." He looked into his glass of ambrosia, then leaned over to Apollo, dropping his voice. "What's a nucleotide?"

"I'll tell you later, Starbuck," volunteered Boxey, cheerfully. Boomer looked from the boy to Starbuck, then back. Everyone laughed.

Except Starbuck.

"And then?" asked Colonel Tigh. Although he almost never accepted invitations to dine, Adama had insisted in this case. Tigh was both a good officer, as well as an old friend. Practically family. He deserved to know the rest of the story.

"Then it all just clicked," said Sheba. "The altered DNA, the traces of tylium and Type VI Polylubrisol-Beta on the jacket worn by my attacker. The fact that the solonite used to try to kill Apollo came from a cluster warhead, and Boomer found one warhead a charge short. The fact that whoever it was could seemingly just vanish, and move unseen through the ship, and even Security couldn't find them. It had to be someone who not only knew the ship's innermost recesses better than any of us, but also was a technical wizard, and worked extensively around Vipers and shuttles. Someone who had served aboard her longer than even the Commander had. I was going over the crew roster, and just knew I was missing something. It all _seemed_ to fit Decker, except for him not being colorblind at all. Then, when I saw the DNA information, it all fell into place like a Cylon pinwheel attack."

"When I saw the same data, I realized the same thing," said Athena. "I called Life Station, but there was no answer. My alert klaxon went off, and we headed for her."

"I was certain that whoever it was was keeping track of us somehow," Sheba went on, "and then the call came in for Tone to go to the laundry. My little voice told me it was a fake, so I laid a trap in my room. Sure enough, Tabor showed up."

"Well, I may not be a biogenetic engineer," said Starbuck. "But I do know that Boxey is a hero."

"Aww, Starbuck," said Boxey, flushing with pride.

"Roowwrr!" said Muffit.

"You are too," said Athena.

"Yes, what _were_ you doing up and about at that centar?" asked Adama, with just the right amount of grandfatherly reproach in his voice. "Long past your bedtime, young man."

"I couldn't sleep," said Boxey, "Jolly's snoring woke me up and I couldn't go back to sleep. And dad and all the pilots were asleep, and I wanted someone to talk to. So, I went to Life Station to see you." He looked up at Sheba, eyes aglow with love.

"And distracted the killer long enough for things to turn out right," said Boomer. "Talk about timing."

"That was a big risk you took, Boxey," said Apollo, looking down at him. "Tabor was someone who wouldn't have hesitated to kill you."

"I knew he wouldn't, though," replied Boxey, with certainty.

"How?" asked Tigh.

"Well, _The Book Of The Word_ says '_He is with they who stand for justice. The Almighty is a shield to them who wrestle with evil.'" _He closed his eyes to concentrate. "And the other part that says _'Let their way be dark and slippery, Let destruction come upon the wicked unexpectedly, the net they have cast shall catch them, into that very destruction let them fall.' _I knew we'd win." Again, there was silence. Tigh, normally agnostical, looked down, thoughtfully, then back up at the boy. Boxey looked to his father. "Did I quote it right?"

"You did," Apollo reassured him, unable to hide his pride. He'd been schooling Boxey in his memory work, and it was obviously paying off.

"Well Boxey, are you going to be a Prior or scholar?" asked Boomer.

"Nope," replied the boy quickly, a note of pride in his voice. "A Viper pilot. Like my parents are."

"Well, he's a hero in my book," said Cassie. She looked at Boxey, and smiled.

"Aw, Cassiopeia."

"No, she's right," said Sheba, turning to look at her stepson-to-be. "You are." She looked down at him, blushing red as a ripe pomon. "You are, Boxey. If it weren't for you, I might not have survived the fight up there."

"Oh, but you can beat any enemy, Sh…Mom." There was a momentary stillness, as the impact of Boxey's word sunk in. "Just like those Cylons."

"Boxey," she said, leaning down a little, "never forget. No one, absolutely no one, is invincible. Yes, even me. When I joined the _Galactica_ crew, I was all shot up. Really bad. So, I'm not invulnerable. Had you not been there, had you not come into the Life Center when you did, Tabor might never have been caught."

"Or…or he might have killed you?"

"Yes. So, believe us when we tell you. You are a hero, Boxey."

"And one I'm not likely to ever forget," said Apollo. Boxey grinned up at his Dad, "Does that mean I can have the new _Starhounds_ game?" Apollo returned his grin as he listened to Starbuck chuckling softly. "No."

"Before I forget," said Tigh, hiding a smile, "there's still something I'd like to know. How did Commander Cain's command override code end up being used to lock out the _Galactica_'s escape pods?"

"Yes, I'd like to know that too," said Adama, turning to Sheba. "If you would."

"Well, that was me, yes. Tabor demanded that I fly him to one of the nearby systems in a shuttle, with Boxey as a hostage. After he fled Life Station, I realized that he might try for the escape pods instead, since he'd as much as told me his escape plan. So, I used father's command code to lock them out, and force him towards the shuttle hangar. I knew that sooner or later, he'd turn up, and so would Security."

"It works on the _Galactica_?" asked Athena. "The code from another Battlestar?"

"Yes," said Adama. "Every Commander's override code is unique, and allows unlimited access to all ship's functions. It is, or was, in the data banks of every Colonial warship."

"What for?" asked Cassie.

"Many reasons," said Adama. "If one Commander were to be incapacitated or killed in battle, and another had to take his place such as in a Task Force situation, or to keep certain information and functions out of the hands of either the Cylons or anyone else who might get aboard and try and access things they had no business seeing. Cain's code is in our computer, just as mine is in the _Pegasus_'. Each Commander was given one upon assuming command, and it remains in the system in perpetuity."

"And you knew Cain's," said Boomer. "I see. Clever."

"After the disaster at Molocay, father entrusted me with his code," said Sheba. "Just in case anything happened to him."

"And we are all glad he did,' said Adama. "Tabor might have actually been able to effect his escape, if you hadn't thought of that."

"Well, she's a genius," said Apollo. "What can I say?" He looked at Sheba, smiling.

"You could say it again," she smiled back. "It sounds _so_ good!"

" Okay. She's a genius." They all laughed. Settling down, Apollo took another sip of his ambrosia, and look at Adama. "Father, have we found out any more about Tabor?"

"Well, Castor's men searched his quarters. There wasn't really much beyond what you might expect, except several stacks of notebooks, and a few engineering and technical volumes."

"Notebooks?" asked Tigh. "Of what?"

"Diaries, musings to himself, even poetry," replied Adama. "Sire Solon has them for the record, such as it is. A lot of them are jumbled and incoherent. Ramblings about death and murder, decay and guilt and tormented dreams. The musings of a tortured mind."

"All these yahrens, to carry all that guilt," said Athena. "It must have driven him mad."

"Yes, Athena," said her father. "He talks over and over of Dorian, and how his ghost would visit and torment him. How it would never let him leave the _Galactica, _and transfer to another ship. From what we've been able to piece together, killing Dorian was the one and only real mistake of his life."

"And he paid for it, over and over, for almost thirty yahrens," said Tigh, shaking his head. "Yet, the few times I'd ever encountered him, he _seemed_ quite sane."

"Looked that way to me when I had the cadets down there the last time," said Starbuck. "He addressed them briefly, on maintenance stuff."

"He kept it bottled up, I'll wager," said Cassie. "Talk about a strong character, resisting until it finally ate his mind away. Always wanting to leave the ship, always afraid to, afraid that Major Dorian would be found someday."

"And when the bones _were _found," added Boomer, "it must have finally pushed his mind over the edge into insanity." He shook his head. "I'd rather face a Cylon attack phalanx than that."

"Me too, and I can't even fly," said Cassie.

"But, his last thoughts were of remorse, and he sought forgiveness from us," said Adama. "We can only hope that Lieutenant Tabor has at last found the peace that this life so cruelly denied him. Let us try and remember that."

"Here here!" said Athena, raising her glass. They all touched, and drank to the moment. Later, stomachs filled, glasses empty, hearts merry, and the chronometer late, they all filed slowly out. As Apollo passed through the hatch, Adama heard "Starbuck, about my office…" Then the hatch was closed, and the Commander was alone.

Although he could have called for the steward, Adama didn't mind cleaning up himself tonight; the occasion was more than worth the bother. After things were either stacked away or dumped into the recycler, he sat at his desk, and once more opened the old album, For a long time, he wasn't sure how long, he just sat there, silently, looking at the likenesses of himself and Dorian from so long ago. Long before the two happy, carefree friends ever thought of women, or power, or cruel pride. Adama closed it at last, unaware of the tiny tear that had splashed down upon the old likeness, putting it back in its hallowed place, then rose, and walked to the port, looking out across endless space. Slowly, he folded his hands, and bowed his head.

"Almighty, what poor thanks can I give for this salvation of my family, and the vindication of my name? You have delivered me, and those I love, yet again."

He went on, for some time, pouring out his heart. And wondering. Tabor had struggled to make his peace before meeting his fate. And Dorian? In those last few moments, had he sought to be shriven of his burden of evil as well? Adama realized, of course, that until the day he passed beyond the veil himself, he would never know. And that, he told himself, is how it must remain for now.

Adama at last lifted his eyes, and gazed for a long, long moment, out the portal. You could see a long way, across the innumerable stars.

But not as far as Dorian had gone.

**Epilogue**

As soon as the dinner had broken up, Sheba had accompanied Apollo and Boxey back to their quarters so she could bid them goodnight. The tender hug Boxey had given her, and his actually saying "Good night, Mommy." had left her on the verge of feeling overwhelmed with emotion completely. And yet...when she'd walked away from the quarters of her soon-to-be husband and stepson, she found another feeling starting to take hold inside her. One that was distinctly less positive from the one Boxey had left her with. It was a feeling of...frustration like she'd never known before.  
She'd been struggling with it inside for some time, and had thought she'd overcome it earlier that evening once the crisis passed, but something had come up during the dinner that had reopened the inner wound and now, despite the good feeling generated by her goodnight with Boxey and Apollo, she almost felt as if she were about to explode.  
And so, she had retreated to the most private place she could think of. One she had retreated to once before in frustration without authorization.  
When Sheba popped open the hatch to the Celestial Dome, the first thing she noticed was how cleaned up it seemed compared to the last time she had been here, which had been with Apollo the night before their patrol together that had led them to encounter the horrible Derelict ship of Count Iblis and his demon minions. An experience that had been life-changing for the both of them...and one that she had thought would bring an end to the string of miseries and afflictions she'd been going through in her life.  
Instead, that had not proved to be the case. Despite the happiness that had come with Apollo proposing, and the end of the distance she'd known with Boxey before the Derelict incident, it had not led to the end of traumas and afflictions. There had been that incident with the Ziklagi, when she had been shot up and Apollo had been forced to spend many long centars wondering if he'd lost her forever. That had been one assault to her pride as a warrior, to have ended up wounded and in the Life Station, helpless, and knowing that those she loved had to suffer, wondering about her fate. Especially Apollo. After their shared experience of surviving the ordeal of the Derelict, she had hoped that she could spare him any more mental anguish, such as that. They both deserved better, especially after having to face that demon! Still, she knew that, given her life as a warrior, she could not realistically expect to avoid life threatening situations, or times when Apollo might feel anguish over her, unless she decided to never go into battle again . . . no! She was too much her father's daughter to give that up! But to end up in the Life Station again just a mere sectar later was a double indignity to her. And to have to listen to another pompous lecture from Salik about staying in the Life Station and off her feet, just as she'd done sectars ago when she'd been sidelined from the action at Ki because of illness. To again see the pain in Apollo's face and to have to go through another emotional conversation with him. It was enough to make think Sheba wonder at times if she was living in some bad play her mother, Bethany, renowned throughout the Colonies as the Queen of Caprican Theater, had once refused to act in. An atmospheric story of a person who found herself reliving the same experiences over and over again, as if guided by some mysterious, incomprehensible outside force, and yet never given any reason as to why.  
She could still remember the title on the script, _Deja_, some Aquarian term that she didn't get, and she could also see her mother laughing derisively as she'd read a page of the script and then register her final opinion of the subject matter by crumpling the pages one by one and tossing them into a nearby receptacle as if she were a triad player aiming for a score. "Ridiculous and stupid," Bethany had said, and then told her daughter how the nice thing about being a legend of the stage was having the freedom to turn down projects like that.  
Now though, as Sheba settled herself down on the bench in front of the platform that held the Gamma signal receiver and booster, which she noticed was back on an active setting now----no doubt because of Apollo's influence on that matter---- , she couldn't help but think that her life was becoming like something out of that bad play. And if more of that were to continue, it had the potential to ruin her confidence as a warrior, and to potentially undermine the happiness she was looking forward to sharing with Apollo as his wife, and with Boxey as his mother.  
_It's not fair_, she thought as she looked ahead into the star-filled expanse in front of her. _After what happened on the Derelict, I didn't deserve any of this happening to me. Especially this latest thing._  
Before the dinner, she might have thought she could rationalize being in the Life Station this most recent time as something that helped unmask Dorian's killer. But now, she didn't see how she could think that. True, she had made some clever deductions from her position there, but it was the kind of thing that theoretically could have been done as part of normal investigative work without being attacked once, and then on top of it, the near-horror of seeing the little boy she was already starting to think of as her son going through a potentially life-threatening experience as well. The best she could say was that she had done all she could have done from the position she'd been thrust into, and she had succeeded, but that didn't take away the simple resentment inside over being thrust into that kind of position in the first place.  
_I've had enough of this_, she thought with an inner fury that she knew she dared not show openly to anyone, lest it only create a new set of difficulties that she didn't want to see. _I'm owed something. Me, Apollo, Boxey. I only want some peace and calm in my life for now._  
As Sheba continued to sit on the bench, her arms folded, her expression bitter, her eyes looking ahead, she was totally unaware of a presence that now materialized beside her. It was a presence from that realm beyond that of the living. Where those who occupied that domain could often return to the realm they once belonged to in life, but only by staying totally unseen and unheard by those they'd once known. Yet despite being unheard and unseen, they could often find ways of imparting support and encouragement just the same.  
Recently, the spirit of Apollo's first wife and Boxey's mother had visited the Galactica and the other ships of the Fleet for just such a purpose. Now, the white-garbed figure who stood beside Sheba, had come for the same purpose. The woman who in her mortal life had been both Sheba's mother, and the wife of Commander Cain. Whose life had been cut short by a lethal brain disease.  
"It's been a while since I last visited you," she said. "There really wasn't any need, because things have been going so wonderfully for you, but...when I saw how troubled you were now, I thought you could use some encouragement."  
She settled down next to Sheba, who remained oblivious to her presence, and looked at her with the most maternal expression imaginable. "You may look just like me, Sheba, but everything else about you is your father. Not just the fact that you chose the same career he did, but...you have that same sense of pride, and when its wounded you try to keep your hurt bottled up, and not show it to anyone. Not even the ones you love. Your father, he..." she stopped and realized that she couldn't let herself reveal anything the Powers had forbidden her from revealing. Specifically the matter of whether Commander Cain still lived or not. "Well, let's just say that I had plenty of chances to see that myself in him."  
She leaned forward and now she was talking directly into Sheba's ear, "I've always been proud of you, Sheba. Proud to see you take after your father in all the ways that made me love him so much. You wouldn't be the exceptional warrior you are if you didn't have that ability to be a stubborn perfectionist just like him. But this time, Sheba...try not to be like your father so instinctively and realize that more important forces were at work that placed you in the Life Station those two times and allowed some good things to happen. Because of that first time, Boxey felt a desire to think of you not just as a friend but as his future mother. And because of the second time, Adama, whom you owe the same love and devotion that you'd give your own father, is free from what could have been a horrible ordeal that would have disrupted his ability to lead the people. Don't punish yourself because your pride was hurt by ending up in the Life Station, just think first and foremost of the results that happened. Let that give you strength to draw from, and forget about everything else.  
She paused and then smiled warmly in a way that Cain had once told her made her look totally angelic, and had always left him quivering inside.  
"Besides, Sheba, what happened to you these last two times wasn't the mark of a warrior who'd lost her skills, they were the mark of someone who survived experiences that would have left a lesser warrior dead. Take some encouragement from that. And some day, I might tell you a story about your father and how he went through something just like that not long before he became commander of the _Pegasus_.  
"What this all comes back to, Sheba, is that you need to remember that whatever happens to you can lead to a greater good, even if you don't realize it at first. And you've seen the reality of those results after these two incidents, so don't let your heart be troubled any longer about hurt pride or any...angst if you will, between you and Apollo. The only reason why he'd ever be concerned for your safety isn't because he thinks less of your skills, it's because he loves you so much. Although...I'll admit he needs to tone it down a bit. Just be patient with him, and I think in time he will."  
She then rose and after a brief hesitation sat down beside her again. "I...wasn't going to say this, but...you're entitled to it. Especially since after that horrible experience on the Derelict, you felt as though you'd earned the right to a respite, and that's another reason why you've been upset inside over these last two incidents. So, I'll just give you a solemn promise that there won't be anymore of these kinds of situations to trouble you between now and the day you and Apollo become sealed. What might happen after that, I...can't be open with you about, but you can let that inner knowledge build up your sense of confidence and resolve for the short term."  
And then she rose and lingered in the room long enough to see the restless, bitter expression on Sheba's face finally fade and relax. When that had happened, she smiled and then her invisible presence faded from the room completely, and she had passed back into that great chasm separating the domains of living and dead.  
Slowly, Sheba rose from the bench, still looking straight ahead, but this time with a puzzled expression. In the space of an instant, all of the bitter feeling that had been raging inside her was gone, and she had no idea why that was the case, and why she now felt a strange sense of inner peace within her.  
_I don't know why I feel this way_, she thought and then slowly a smile came over her face, _And I shouldn't even care why_.  
Feeling a new burst of confidence within her, Sheba picked up her ear protectors and after putting them on, had opened the hatch and returned to her quarters, where she knew a good night's sleep awaited her.

As Sheba returned to her quarters feeling a sense of peace and inner calm, those emotions were not present at all in luxurious chambers aboard the _Rising Star_.  
Sire Antipas stood in front of the open safe at the far wall of his living quarters, his expression one of slack-jawed shock. He had come over just to have the satisfaction of looking and touching the one artifact he'd thought he'd been able to keep in his possession, only to be greeted with the sight of an empty safe when the door opened.  
_How?_ he thought in horror.  
"Have you lost something, Antipas?"  
The Libran sire turned around and saw Lydia standing in the entryway to the bed chamber with a mischievous smile. She had wrapped only a thin sheet around her naked body and even though she'd been awake for only a few centons, managed to look radiantly beautiful.  
"Where is it?" he demanded coldly, his hands clenching to indicate his anger.  
"Oh, you mean that little memento of Queen Herneith's?" Lydia stepped forward, dragging the sheet behind her. "The item that if the official statement you made to Adama were accurate, should have been destroyed along with the rest of the items that Jabez kept in his quarters?"  
Antipas tried to maintain his angry expression, but inside he felt more scared than at any time he could recall in his life.  
"Jabez didn't sabotage his quarters and kill the Security Chief," Lydia's voice was taunting, "That was all Kimo's doing. On your orders no doubt, though I'm sure that the Chief's death wasn't planned. When it comes to a planned death though, that would describe what happened to Kimo. You had to kill him because he was the only one left who knew that you still had the Herneith bracelet he'd taken from Jabez's quarters, and that he could bring you down for a crime that Adama would never have agreed to pardon you for."  
Antipas said nothing for several centons before he managed to get out his next words.

"Where is it?"  
"Someplace where you can't get hold of it, darling Antipas," Lydia's wicked smile widened, "But should I ever meet with an unexpected accident of some kind, it will resurface. You can certainly guarantee that."  
The auburn haired Siress came up to him, and then deftly tossed away the sheet covering her body, and then put her arms around him.  
"You wouldn't want something to happen to me, Antipas," the possessive tone entered her voice, "All it would guarantee you is the disgrace of either the Prison Barge or the death penalty. And I can make sure you only get eternal pleasure from me."  
She kissed him with violent passion on the lips, and it only took five microns for Antipas to stop resisting and give in.  
"That's it," she whispered with sensuous delight, "Just accept things as they are. And you won't ever have a thing to worry about."  
Lydia then whispered in his ear, "And someday Antipas, when the time is right, you and I will find even greater opportunities...together."  
Antipas managed to smile thinly at her, "I seem to have...underestimated you greatly, my dear Lydia."  
"Indeed," she returned it.  
"The irony is that I resumed my pursuit of you because I actually feared you'd been developing a moral conscience." he shook his head and chuckled, "It's clear now that you don't have one left."  
"Which frees me to enjoy the things I value most," Lydia said, "Such as insuring your total loyalty and devotion for the rest of your life, Antipas."  
They then collapsed to the floor in another bout of uninhibited lovemaking, but even amidst their mutual pleasure, the Libran sire was seething inside and vowing that someday, even if he had to wait ten yahrens, he'd find a way of freeing himself from her.

Far away across the reaches of space, there was restless activity taking place aboard the lead Cylon BaseShip of a taskforce of two. For more than a secton, the two massive warships had held their position in a particular quadrant that had been yielding too many conflicting pieces of information that was making the taskforce commander feeling emotions that his centurion crew was incapable of feeling, but which seemed to threaten the very well-being of his delicate IL circuitry.

"I am not impressed with this analysis," Lucifer did not conceal the disgust in his voice. "Why are our patrols not able to reach the outer edge and get some clearer signals for us to analyze?"

"The magnetic interference readings are too dangerous for any of our craft to penetrate effectively," the gold-plated command centurion, known officially as Moray, though Lucifer seldom bothered to use the name since he didn't see why any centurion, not even one of high rank, had a need for it.

"Then given our strength in available fighters, perhaps its time we sacrifice one by sending it through the magnetic clouds so they might at least have a chance to get to the source of these signal readings that have kept us stopped in our position all this time." Lucifer retorted.

The command centurion said nothing, the only sound being the steady whirring of his electronic eye back and forth.

"Well?" the IL Cylon demanded impatiently.

"That procedure has already been utilized," Moray said, "The fighter that sacrificed itself was unable to communicate from the other side of the magnetic cloud."

"Hmmm," immediately Lucifer's voice softened, "My apologies. It would seem then, that we must continue to search for an alternate means of getting to the source of these signals that on the one hand indicate survivors from BaseShip 1974, and these other signals that represent...something else."

"That would be a practical solution."

"Then keep working on it. I want results sooner, not later."

"By your command."

As Command Centurion Moray walked off, Lucifer found his two Cylon computer brains humming with activity, and he was forming two conclusions at that instant. Neither of which he found pleasing in the least.

The first, was the information that the centurions had already thought of a most unorthodox procedure of investigation that theoretically, their simple programming should not have come up with. It was something that almost bordered on...independent initiative. If Cylon centurions were suddenly for no apparent reason developing that kind of capability, that was a development that two-brained Cylons like himself could not consider positive at all. It was the kind of development that could have the potential to threaten their very existence as a class.

The second conclusion concerned the matter of the old Cylon code signals that represented a part of the transmissions on the other side of that impenetrable magnetic cloud that had held up their progress for more than a secton. The more he thought about it, the more he was finding it less practical that it could come from members of BaseShip 1974's crew. How could they have found an opportunity to escape to such a planet and after six sectons have enough power reserves to keep transmitting all this time?

If that were the case then the only thing that could account for those signals was that they came from someone or something that had knowledge of what the codes had been at that particular time.

And if that were the case, the only logical answer of who could be responsible for that, represented the very worst possibility for Lucifer's two brains to consider.

He hoped it wouldn't take too much longer for his fears to be dispelled on that subject...or confirmed.

_Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last Battlestar, _Galactica_, leads a ragtag fugitive Fleet on a lonely quest. A shining planet...known as Earth._

_With much thanks to Maggie, Eric, Lisa, and that guy from the FBI who let me steal one of their skeletons..._


End file.
